D and C
by atheneblue
Summary: Guerrero meets a woman whose moral spectrum may be grayer than his own.  Guerrero X OC.  Rated M for language,  violence, dark  as always  sexuality, and medical scenes.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm not gonna lie, dude. This is way beyond the realm of my capabilities."

Chance hissed, wincing, as Guerrero probed the wound and located the bullet, which was lodged deep in the big muscle of the blond man's thigh. Blood seeped from the hole and stained the shirt Guerrero had wrapped around Chance's leg as a tourniquet.

"I'm not going in there. Don't wanna hamstring you, dude."

"Yeah. Please don't do that," Chance groaned. Winston looked back at him in the rearview mirror, dark eyes tense. "Tell me you have somebody, Guerrero."

"I know a guy in Riga who's really good with gunshot wounds."

"'Riga'? As in _Latvia_?" Chance cast a despairing glance at Winston in the front. The big man had his cell out and was dialing with his thumb, one eye on the road.

Guerrero raised his eyebrows doubtfully. "Miroslav's good, dude. He's an artist. Did I ever show you that stab wound on my hip? Barely a scar."

The blond thumped the driver's side headrest demandingly.

"Yeah, yeah. I got someone," his partner muttered as the phone on the other end of the line rang. "Maybe."

The security guard at the gate surveyed the two men in the back seat warily, even going so far as to tip the brim of his hat up so he could see better. His almond-shaped eyes narrowed. Guerrero sucked his tongue in annoyance and tried not to look so much as if he was grasping another man's thigh.

"Hi, how are you? We're here to see Dr. Birdsall," Winston announced over the descending car window in his patented friendly yet business-like manner.

The guard nodded absently and circled the vehicle. "Dr. Birdsall called ahead to say that you would be coming. Said to let you through."

"Then just let us on through," Winston muttered through his grin. Chance smiled gamely as the guard passed his window and raised two fingers to his brow in a mini-salute. Guerrero, meanwhile, was eyeing the Walther PPK holstered on the guard's hip. The guard was on the short side, but he had the air about him of a man who knows what he is doing. His face was broad and tan; Guerrero guessed that he was Vietnamese. He glanced down as the dark eyes peered into his window to assess him. He felt moisture on his fingers: blood was oozing through the cloth they had wadded into Chance's wound. Guerrero applied more pressure and received an answering grunt from the blond.

At last the guard nodded at Winston and said, "Go ahead, sir." He made a whirling motion with one finger pointed up in the air, a gesture that caused Chance's eyebrows to shoot up.

"Ex-military?" the veteran guessed as Winston pulled into the lot and around the low building.

"These people are not messing around," Guerrero concurred, scanning the property curiously: non-descript facility, not much parking.

"They can't, if they want to stay alive." Winston parked the car on the far side of a dumpster and emerged to help Chance out. The blond hobbled along, balanced between Winston's bulk and Guerrero's slighter frame, toward the rear entrance of the facility. The door opened as they approached.

"Hi, Zahra," Winston called. "Good to see you."

The petite woman in the doorway shot him a bemused grin, then stepped aside to allow the men passage inside. "My office," she indicated _sotto voce_. "Second door on the right." She followed them into the small room, where Winston and Guerrero plopped their charge unceremoniously on one of the two chairs positioned in front of the desk. Kneeling at Chance's side, she bent her dark head to explore the side of his thigh with gentle fingertips. " Are you infected with any blood-borne diseases? HIV? Hepatitis?"

Chance shook his head.

"Taking any medications?"

"Unh-unh."

"Are you experiencing any numbness in the limb?"

"Nope," Chance hissed as she probed the wound.

"Is there any chance someone followed you here? Anyone coming after you? If so, I need to get my people out immediately. I won't put them in harm's way." She raised assertive eyebrows questioningly at Winston.

"Those guys…won't be traveling anytime soon," the big man replied diplomatically.

"Except on the astral plane," Guerrero muttered.

Dr. Birdsall glanced at Guerrero, then back to Winston, and sighed. "I knew there'd be an ask someday, Win, but you couldn't have brought me an easier one?"

"I can take care of the easy ones," Guerrero drawled.

She shot him an appraising look. Her dark eyes seemed like the traits of an ancient race, the sort of eyes that had inspired Solomon's song. He tilted one hip down to sit on the edge of her desk to demonstrate insouciance. She looked back at Chance. "I have to get rid of my nurses, then we can move you to the O.R. Wait here." Then she was nothing but a lab coat and heels clicking away down the corridor. Winston pulled the door shut behind her.

"She seems nice," Chance groaned, shifting his buttock to a more comfortable position.

Guerrero was looking around the office. Thick books, colorful diagrams, framed degrees…Kevlar? "What's with the body armor, dude?"

Winston pursed his lips, impressed. "I'm glad to see she's still wearing that. There should be a nice little Glock in there." He indicated a small safe nestled in the base of a bookshelf. "That's how I met her, you know. S.F.P.D. was called in because of threats against the doctors in this clinic, Zahra included. Some of the doctors hired armed drivers to bring them to and from work. But Zahra…" He grinned. "She decided to arm herself."


	2. Chapter 2

Although under torture he might have admitted that he wanted to eyeball Dr. Birdsall's entire figure as she stepped out of the elevator into the office, Guerrero's eyes were immediately drawn to the firearm buckled under her left breast. He knew that everyone else's attention was riveted in the same place, except for Ilsa's maybe. Mrs. Pucci was probably analyzing the cut of her skirt and the quality of her shoes.

"Whoa," Ames murmured. "Is she always strapped, or is she only putting on the ritz for us?"

Guerrero ignored her, as usual. Chance merely raised his eyebrows.

Winston was bending almost in half to kiss and embrace the petite doctor. It had been over a year since Guerrero had last seen her. He remembered that she had looked good wearing a labcoat; now she looked even better in a tightly-wrapped shirt dress under a loose jacket that tried to hide her shoulder holster. Ilsa, whose _laissez-faire_ approach was becoming distinctively less _laissez _and more _faire_, waited eagerly to greet their new client, practically bouncing in her excitement over this new adventure. Guerrero wondered exactly how she was describing her relationship to the team. He saw Ilsa put out her hand to show Dr. Birdsall into the conference room, and then Winston was following the two women around the glass partition. From his seat near the doorway, Guerrero thought he could smell a fragrance something like suntan lotion mixed with baby powder. It was a warm and welcoming fragrance.

_What's this happy horseshit? Imagining smells now, are we? Probably a frickin' brain tumor._

"Mr. Chance," the doctor was saying, "it's a pleasure to see you in such fine fettle. A full recovery since our last meeting, I assume?"

"Not even a scar, doc," Chance responded gallantly, rising to shake her hand.

The ghost of a smile curved her lips.

"You remember Guerrero."

Her dark eyes roved slowly toward him, but Guerrero made no move to rise from his chair. He even left his ankles crossed on the table. He saluted her in a manner which he hoped mingled elements of the roguish and the nonchalant. Chance could not restrain a sigh, shoving his hands into his pocket. "And this is a new member of our team: Ames."

The young brunette kept her seat, as had her _ersatz_ mentor, while the doctor surveyed her with a slightly surprised expression that clearly read, "I didn't realize you were running a kindergarten." Guerrero swiped a hand over his mustache to hide a smile.

"Won't you sit down, doctor?" Ilsa offered, with the grace that came as easily to her as breathing.

Dr. Birdsall was talking before her backside hit the expensive black leather. "I'll get right to the point, if I may. I have a...high-profile...patient coming in next week, and I want protection for both her and my staff. It seems that the various leagues are already well-mobilized, and I anticipate that a sizable group of demonstrators will be present when my patient tries to enter the clinic."

"You think it will be more than the average circus?" Winston asked, easing himself into the chair at the head of the table.

"I've received a number of death threats regarding this matter. I believe them to be credible."

"How tough can a bunch of Jesus-freaks be?" Guerrero scoffed, despite himself. Winston adopted the look of disdain which he reserved for the smaller man. Guerrero pulled his feet off the table and leaned forward. "Look, I know they mean business, dude. But this is a limited target area, and the threat has a clock on it. We put the mother in a vest, scan the area for snipers, put _me_ up top with a rifle, you guys on the ground...fifteen minutes, tops."

Winston leaned back in his chair and tapped the table, exchanging a glance with Dr. Birdsall. "There's also the issue of crowd control."

oooOOOooo

"Oh, man, look at 'em all," Ames whispered, staring out the windshield of the El Dorado. Hundreds of eyes stared back at her. The two hundred yards between the car and the clinic was a writhing sea of humanity. A veritable forest of signs swayed above the demonstrators' heads.

Ames shrank down in her seat, adjusting her wig, and clasped her padded belly in an unconsciously protective manner. Impressed by the picketers' numbers despite himself, Guerrero shifted the ElDo into first. "I'm going in, dude."

"Roger that," Winston replied over the comm. He put the Escalade in gear to follow Guerrero as closely as possible.

oooOOOooo

"I've been following this case in the papers, Dr. Birdsall," Ilsa offered cautiously. "I understand that the family courts just emancipated the young lady in question."

The doctor hesitated, and Guerrero watched as she uncrossed and re-crossed her slim runner's legs, composing herself against Ilsa's guardedness. "Yes. Hayley is free to pursue termination now. Unfortunately, due to her parents' objections and the subsequent legal actions, the procedure will be late-term. Naturally, this is far more controversial than a first or second trimester termination. Pro-life activists from all over the West Coast have been alerted. I estimate a turn-out of at least three hundred picketers, any one of whom could pose a threat to Hayley or a member of my team."

"A threat to Hayley?" Chance repeated in confusion. "I don't get it. If they hurt her, they hurt the baby, right? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

Dr. Birdsall fixed him with her dark, long-lashed eyes. "A movement has arisen lately that damns the mother as complicit in the so-called murder of her fetus. The more violent element has explored ways in which the mother can be...injured outside the gates of a clinic, such that the rescue squad must be called and the fetus extracted at a hospital via cesarean section. A fetus of that age would, at least theoretically, be viable."

"So the baby would live," Ilsa translated.

Winston cleared his throat.

Chance glanced at the widow, than back at Dr. Birdsall. "Has it been confirmed that the, uh, fetus is the product of incest?"

"A paternity test can't be conducted when the fetus is _in utero_. I can submit tissue for testing once the procedure is complete."

"'Tissue'?" Ames murmured, grimacing. "Gross."

Dr. Birdsall's eyes flicked toward the pretty brunette. Guerrero read something like pain in her expression.

"The D.A. is waiting to move forward on the accusations of rape and incest until the testing occurs. But I've spoken extensively with Gina Willis, who was serving as Hayley's guardian _ad litem_. Gina believes without question that Burt Simms is responsible for his daughter's pregnancy."

Chance winced with distaste.

"Doctor," Ilsa interjected, "what are the risks to Hayley of the procedure?"

"As you can imagine, Mrs. Pucci, I would have preferred that Hayley terminate much earlier in the pregnancy. Her own extreme youth and the fetus' development make the procedure much riskier. But I hope to conduct the termination without incident and with no future adverse effects to Hayley."

Ames frowned and leaned over to Guerrero. "'Extreme youth'? How old _is_ Hayley?"

Guerrero sighed, something that had become habitual whenever Ames addressed him. "Don't you read the papers? Do you even know _how_ to read?"

Ames crossed her arms over her chest and made a moue. He looked at her reprovingly over the frames of his glasses.

"She's eleven, dude."

oooOOOooo

After endless minutes of honking and creeping forward ,Guerrero and Ames were only 300 feet from the gate of the clinic when a cluster of picketers took a stand deliberately in the El Dorado's path. Grimacing, Guerrero slowed the car to a crawl. When the picketers did not scatter, he braked suddenly, within inches of a heavy-set man wearing a 'Niners ball cap. The man's picket sign bore a full-color picture of a dismembered fetus. "Abortion is murder!" the picketer roared at them. Guerrero put the car in park and tromped on the gas, revving the engine threateningly. Something thumped against his window. He looked up to see a press of hands and faces thronging the ElDo.

"Oh, shit!" Ames gasped, shrinking away from the picketers mobbing her side of the car.

"Don't kill your baby!"

"Come with us, Hayley. We'll help you!"

"Jesus loves you _and_ your baby!"

The ElDo rocked slightly, and a muffled bump came from under the front bumper.

"Guerreroooo," Ames moaned nervously.

"Can you guys see what they're doing?" he barked into the comm.

"No visibility back here," Winston responded. "Too many people."

"Chance?"

"It looks like they're..." Chance's voice trailed off. "Damn, I didn't think she was serious."

oooOOOooo

"They may lie down in front of the car."

"I beg your pardon, doctor?" Ilsa's eyes were laughably wide. She glanced nervously at Chance, as if waiting for him to dismiss this ridiculous notion.

Dr. Birdsall clasped the pendant that hung around her neck and ran it back and forth along its white-gold chain. Guerrero watched her closely; he wondered if this would be the good doctor's tell in a game of poker. "It's an extension of a non-violent protest technique. They lie down on the asphalt in front of the car. Sometime they even clasp the front wheels, like this." She circled her arms in a completely unnecessary demonstration. "Usually it's adults, but I've seen children as young as eight do it."

Winston ran a hand over his face, then exchanged a look with Chance.

"Ladies, would you excuse us while we, uh, walk through some scenarios?" The blond flashed his most charming smile.

Ilsa looked nonplussed, but she rose from her seat. Guerrero figured that she had danced this dance many times while her husband was still alive.

Dr. Birdsall eyed Winston pointedly. "Would you care for brandy and cigars?" she murmured.

The big man smiled ruefully. "You came to us, Zahra. Let us do what we do." He raised an open palm to indicate that she should follow Ilsa. The doctor dropped her pendant, letting it fall against her clavicle. She rose and allowed Ilsa to guide her into the other room. "Coffee, doctor? Tea?" the widow asked as they stepped out, their heels clacking in double-time on the hardwood.

Almost alone now, all three men looked at Ames, who turned an expression of rank disbelief on Guerrero. "What, me too? You've _got_ to be kidding!"

Guerrero waited patiently through her display, then indicated the door. "Scoot."

She flared her eyes at him rebelliously. He stared her down. Grinding her teeth and glaring at each of the men in turn, Ames scat.

Winston sat forward and put his head in his hands. "Now: how the hell are we going to do this?"

OooOOOooo

"Looks like you're on," Guerrero told Ames. She winced as he clicked the car doors unlocked and pulled a face at him. He jerked his head at the passenger-side door. She pulled the handle, and at first there was too much pressure inward, but then the picketers began to fall back, and she was able to squeeze out into the crowd.

"Please help me!" she squealed to the demonstrators. "Please! My baby!" A middle-aged white woman and a young black man grasped Ames around the shoulders and hustled her away from the ElDo with near-military efficiency. The crowd's shouting turned into a low rumble of confusion. Guerrero heard only fragments of Ames' theatrical wails ("Jesus...sorry...baby!"), which were perfect for an audience this large. Guerrero could see the very top of the head of the young man who had Ames under his arm. He and Edith Bunker were moving the girl quickly and steadily down the block, away from the clinic. The other picketers milled uncertainly, looking from Ames to the stationary vehicles.

"Come on," Guerrero muttered. "Take the bait."

With the sudden shift characteristic of large crowds and several cries of "Hallelujah!", the picketers heaved after the "rescued" girl. Guerrero took several slow, deep breaths, waiting for his path to clear.

"That's it, Guerrero, you're a go," Chance reported from the roof of the clinic.

Guerrero put the ElDo into gear and watched the Escalade creeping up on his back bumper. In his rearview, he could see past Winston to the wide-eyed woman and her charge huddled together in the back seat. He shook his head and muttered, "Twelve-year-olds, dude."

"All right, Guerrero. I'm as close as I can get without spoiling your precious paint job."

"Copy that, Winston. We are Oscar Mike."

Chance snorted at the military acronym, but Guerrero ignored him and began to roll forward, maintaining a low speed. Winston kept pace in the Escalade. Ames' exclamations, though somewhat distant, were becoming even more high-pitched and hysterical. She had seen them moving.

_How long before everyone else does too?_

The mini-caravan of Cadillacs rolled cautiously toward the gate.

"Uh, let's pick up the pace a little there, grandma," Chance warned.

"Are they onto us?" Guerrero asked, obliging his colleague anyway by lowering his foot slightly on the gas. He could now see the blond leaning over the edge of the clinic's roof. The guard began to back away from his position at the gate into the guardhouse. It was the same Vietnamese man who had admitted them the last time they had entered the facility.

"Can we get that damned gate open, please?" Winston muttered impatiently. Guerrero saw Chance give a sign to the guard.

It was the sound of the gate opening that finally alerted the crowd to the subterfuge being perpetrated on them. Guerrero heard the cries of dismay and fought the urge to look out the passenger-side window. "Pickin' up speed, dude," he called, hoping that Winston could maintain the close distance. He crushed the accelerator and heard the ElDo's V8 roar to life. The Cadillacs tore over the asphalt. Wails and angry shouts trailed them as Guerrero slid into the turn, tires squealing and bumping on the edge of the sidewalk cut-out. The Escalade was right behind him. Picketers rushed after them, clamoring at the closing gate. A few enraged souls charged right through into the compound. The guard emerged from the gatehouse and drew his Walther. "Please maintain your distance," he ordered the crowd, over and over again. The invaders backed away and returned to the far side of the gate just before it clicked shut.

"That's criminal trespass!" Guererro heard Gina Willis' outrage over the comm from the Escalade. "Where's SFPD? Those people should be arrested." He missed Winston's response jockeying for comm bandwidth with Chance's answer, because he suddenly spotted Dr. Birdsall trotting around the side of the building, Kevlar layered under her labcoat, eyes searching for the Escalade. A fresh round of imprecations erupted from the other side of the gate when the picketers caught sight of her.

"What the fuck, doc?" he roared ineffectually at his windshield. He saw Chance lean over the edge of the roof and wave Dr. Birdsall frantically toward the rear of the building. The petite woman fell back grudgingly. Guerrero swore under his breath as he parked the ElDo. Two anxious nurses were holding the back door to the clinic open; they shouted at Dr. Birdsall, who paid them no heed. Winston pulled up behind Guerrero, angling the Escalade with the driver's side toward the gate. Hayley Simms, pregnant belly enormous on her slim frame, exploded out of the backseat on the passenger side, followed by Gina Willis, the statuesque black woman who had served as Hayley's guardian_ ad litem. _The girl was weeping hysterically. To Guerrero's amazement, Dr. Birdsall looked close to tears too. Smiling nevertheless, she reached out for Hayley's face, clasping one hand on each of the girl's cheeks.

"Hayley," she told the child, "I'm Dr. Zahra Birdsall, and we're so glad you made it safely."


	3. Chapter 3

"She requested me specifically? I mean, she actually mentioned me by name?"

Guerrero stared at Ames over his glasses and sipped tea from the disposable cup. "I wouldn't be letting you tag along if she hadn't."

Ames hugged herself, fairly bouncing in her chair. She turned her head eagerly to scan the passers-by outside the coffee shop. Guerrero, as he did in most rooms, had taken the seat facing the primary entrance; Ames, back to the door, had to crane her neck to spot Dr. Birdsall. Her efforts were all in vain, however. "What do you think is taking so long? She was just paying Mrs. Pucci for the clinic job, right?"

Guerrero nodded.

"Cash, right?"

"Doc's choice," he agreed absently, checking his burner cell for messages.

"Did she call?"

"She doesn't have this number, dude," he replied witheringly. He replaced the reloadable in his pocket and took out his smartphone. "Or this one. But lesson 8,092: the door is always open in this line of work. Don't miss a job just because you didn't hear about it."

Ames pressed her lips together in serious contemplation of this axiom. "Gotcha. But you think Dr. Birdsall's got a job for us now, don't you?"

"Drink your coffee."

"But-"

"Shut up." Guerrero scrolled through his smartphone and accessed the bug he had hidden in Ilsa's office, then switched the speakerphone function on.

"-why you didn't ask SFPD for assistance in this matter, doctor?"

Ames' mouth dropped open. She giggled nervously. Guerrero waved for her to keep quiet.

"There are elements in the department, Mrs. Pucci, individuals in places of power, 'brass' as you might call them, who do not approve of my work. Since Winston left the force, it's been very hard for me to access what I would consider acceptable levels of protection for the clinic."

"Well, you aren't exactly Albert Schweitzer, doctor."

"No, Mrs. Pucci. But what I do is entirely legal, whereas I guess that many of the actions taken by your organization here are-"

"Yes, doctor," Ilsa interrupted quickly. "I take your point." A beat. "Is Hayley all right?"

"She's in Colorado with her maternal grandmother. I understand that she's undergoing counseling. We can only keep her in our thoughts and hope that she can heal psychologically."

"And physically? Will she...ever be able to conceive? I would hate to think that in ten or fifteen years she might meet a good man and..."

"Assuming that she remains healthy, there's no reason why she should have any worse odds than the rest of us. There is some scarring, primarily around her cervix, but that's in large part a result of the sexual abuse and what her doctor suspects was a burgeoning case of pelvic inflammatory disease. That was prior to the pregnancy, of course."

There was a pause. Than a sound that Guerrero was best able to identify as the shuffling of papers emerged from his phone's speakers.

"Well, doctor. I hope you'll consider Mr. Chance and his team next time you have need of protection services."

"Thank you, Mrs. Pucci. I'll-"

Guerrero switched off the connection. "Shouldn't be long now."

Fewer than five minutes had passed before the eagle-eyed Ames spotted Dr. Birdsall striding down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop. An older gentleman in relaxed-fit jeans held the door for her; she flashed him a smile of thanks.

"Hi, doc!" chirped Ames.

The petite woman was wearing a tan pantsuit that put Hillary Clinton to shame. Her shoulder holster was barely visible underneath the jacket. As she took a seat at their table in an empty chair, she reached out to squeeze Ames' knee in greeting. Guerrero noted this with some surprise and interest.

"I apologize for the delay. I hadn't anticipated making you two wait so long, but Mrs. Pucci and I started chatting."

"Tokyo Fashion Week?" Guerrero suggested.

Dr. Birdsall shook her head. "London," she corrected. The wry look she gave him almost drew a smile from his lips.

"Do you want something to drink?" Ames offered. She had already risen halfway out of her seat.

"She doesn't want anything to drink."

"I don't want anything to drink," the doctor repeated obediently, a tiny smirk flashing across her mouth. She settled herself more comfortably. In the process, she leaned forward, and her necklace swung out between the lapels of her blouse. Guerrero was now able to identify the pendant: three delicate spirals emerging from the same point at equal intervals. The white gold had slipped back into hiding before he realized that he might just have been looking at a triskelion.

_No way. Not this chick. _He took a gulp of tea to cover his confusion.

The doctor was fortunately oblivious of his discombobulation. "When Ames and I last had a chance to speak," she began, then gestured at him in what should have been a gracious manner as she added parenthetically, "You recall, Mr. Guerrero, that this was while you and the menfolk were deciding our fate." Ames choked back a snort as Dr. Birdsall continued, "She suggested that you might have some insight into the death threats I have received. I understand that you're very good with...threats."

Guerrero chose not to rise to the bait, despite the broad grin on Ames' face.

"As one might expect, the intensity of the threats increased when it became known that I would be performing Hayley Simm's procedure. Since then, the rage and...specificity...have not abated."

"Are we talking _credible_ threats here?"

"Oh, yes," she responded mildly, picking at some lint on her pantsleg. "I imagine it was one of my correspondents that fired at me while I was jogging the day before yesterday."

"_Fired _at you?" Ames repeated, wide-eyed.

Dr. Birdsall nodded, still fussing with the fabric of her trousers. "Twice. From a distance. I didn't see the shooter."

"Shit," Ames mused, hands clasped around her coffee. "You're so calm about it."

"I can assure you that I was not so calm at the time." Her dark eyes flashed a smile at the younger woman. "The responding officers found two .30 caliber rounds in a tree but no shell casings. My assailant may have been a poor shot, but apparently he knew enough to 'police his brass', I believe the phrase is. The firing location couldn't be determined."

Guerrero opened his mouth to speak, but Ames jumped in. "So you want us to go over the death threats, figure out if any of them came from the shooter, and then take care of him?"

"Something like that. Yes."

He rolled his eyes at both women. "Let the cops do it."

"It seems to me that the police are severely hampered in this case," Dr. Birdsall commented. Her eyes seemed to be twinkling.

"By?"

The doctor raised one slim dark eyebrow. "The Constitution."

"Oh. That fucking thing." Guerrero could not restrain a chuckle as he took a sip of his tea. He stared at Dr. Birdsall, and she met his gaze with equanimity. He continued to stare. She just smiled. "Give me a minute with my _associate_ here, will ya, doc?" he said at last, still not looking away.

"Certainly," Dr. Birdsall said primly. She rose and went to the counter to order a drink. He studied her backside twitching away under her short-cropped blazer while he pondered a dollar amount. Ames watched his face. He said nothing. The mohawked cashier handed Dr. Birdsall a hot tea (black, he noticed). He could feel Ames' frustration building next to him, but she had enough sense, for once, not to speak. While Mohawk made change for her, the doctor turned to observe the progress of Guerrero and Ames' discussion. She seemed mildly amused that the fixer's attention was focused not on his "associate" but on her. She met his gaze evenly. He squinted back at her.

"Go tell her we have a number," he grunted at Ames.

"We do?" When no response appeared forthcoming, she rolled her eyes, blowing air out of loose lips, and went to fetch the doctor back.

"I see the conclave is over," Dr. Birdsall commented wryly as she returned to the table. "Do we have a pope?"

"Eight hundred for looking at the letters," he answered brusquely. "Dealing with the perp, _if_ we're able to identify him (which I _don't_ guarantee), is a completely separate negotiation."

The dark-haired woman pulled the plastic lid off her tea and blew on the contents contemplatively. "Does that cover both of you?"

"Yeah," Ames chimed in. "Does that cover both of us?"

"Yup."

Ames made a face.

"Done," said Dr. Birdsall, sipping her tea.

Ames made another face. Even Guerrero was a little taken aback by the speedy capitulation. "Doc, you're not even going to negotiate with him?"

"You want me to bargain down your own fee?" Dr. Birdsall answered, turning to Ames and chuckling.

"Yeah, but $800 for us to look through some letters..."

The doctor turned back to Guerrero and eyed him, smiling. "You never asked how many there were."

oooOOOooo

"You have a storage unit for your death threats?" Ames asked disbelievingly as she emerged from Guerrero's El Dorado.

"I have a storage unit for my death threats," Dr. Birdsall agreed, shutting the driver's-side door of her black late-model Jeep. She began to flip through her keys.

Guerrero was circling her vehicle. He gestured at the windows with his disposable cup. "Nice glasswork, doc. Bulletproof?"

"They tell me it's 'bullet-_resistant'_. I think that's like how kids' Halloween costumes are supposed to be flame-_retardant_." She fitted a key into the lock of one of the dozens of units that lined this aisle of the storage facility. The blaze-orange door slid up easily.

"Maybe you should consider that for the ElDo's windows," Ames teased Guerrero. Then she caught sight of the storage unit's interior. "Whoa."

"Climate-controlled. Sweet." Guerrero stepped in amongst the piles of copy-paper boxes, boots clumping on the concrete floor of the storage unit. The doctor flicked the light switch. It was hard to estimate how many boxes filled the room because they were so tightly stacked. No more than a hundred, he guessed. Well, maybe one-fifty. "'Z.B. - 8/10 – personal'," he read aloud.

Ames peeked around him and pointed at the box. "That whole thing is only one month?"

"Yes, one month's worth to my home address or to other locations relevant to my private life. That box may not be full, though. I don't recall."

Ames tilted another box heavy with papers up to the light. "Who's G.H.?"

"Grace Huang. One of my nurses."

"All right," Guerrero said, sipping at his tea. "Let's pull the 'Z.B.'s for the last, what, two months?"

The doctor nodded. "And the ones marked 'misc. office'. Those include threats sent to the clinic in general."

Ames had opened the 'G.H.' box, however, and was flipping through its contents. "What's this, a flier?" she asked, extracting a pink leaflet that had been rolled, not folded. In addition to some smaller text, the reproduced photo of a smiling Asian woman was framed with the words, "Grace Huang – WANTED FOR MURDER". Dr. Birdsall took the flier and considered it thoughtfully.

"I remember this one. There was a human rights activist who made one of these for each of us. She distributed them all over our neighborhoods. As I recall, this particular one came from Grace's daughter's violin class. The activist had been handing them out at the music school to the other students and parents."

Guerrero cut off Ames' amazed protestation before the young woman could even start. "Go make some room in the ElDo's trunk. I think we can fit the boxes we need in there."

The pretty brunette sidled up next to him. "Anything in there I should know about, _boss_?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth, eyes wide with innuendo. They both glanced at Dr. Birdsall, who was checking box labels in a deliberate and studied manner.

"Really, dude?" he muttered in response. "Seriously? Just move around the tacklebox and stuff to make some room. What kind of cheap hack do you think I am?"

Ames wagged her slender finger in his face. "I hate it when you call me 'dude'!" She whirled on the doctor, her face suddenly the very picture of pleasant professionalism. "I'll be back in just a moment, doc," she announced, glaring daggers at Guerrero as she backed out of the storage unit.

Dr. Birdsall could not restrain a laugh when Ames had gone. "She's quite a character."

Guerrero screwed up one eye. "Yeah. Well. She originally hired us to accompany her into Indian country in pursuit of the man who shot her paw, but, gosh darn it, she was so plucky, we just had to take her on."

The doctor smiled at his quip. "She seems like a good person to have handy."

"Planning on asking her out, doc?" He set down his tea and hefted a box. "'Cause matchmaking services are extra."

The doctor cocked her head at him in bemusement as he brushed past her to set the box on the concrete lip of the storage unit. "You trust her, don't you?"

He rolled his ice-blue eyes and picked up his drink. "About as far as I can kick her." He slugged back a disgruntled shot of tea.

"But do you feel that she's trustworthy? Generally?"

He stared at the doctor. As before, she returned his gaze unflinchingly. He shook his head and adjusted the frames of his glasses. "She's a con artist, doc. Also a hacker and a thief."

Dr. Birdsall pursed her lips, hesitating for just the barest breath before saying, "High praise, isn't that? Add 'extortionist' and 'murderer' to the resume, and we have you." Guerrero opened his mouth to reply, not exactly sure how he might answer these accusations, but the doctor forged ahead. "Ames had a lot to tell me about you, that day with Mrs. Pucci. Her...testimonial...is what convinced me to hire you for this job. But what I want to know is if she is trustworthy. Are you as good as she says?" He smiled at this and tilted back his cup, chugging the last of his tea preparatory to a response. "Is she right about you? Because I see two possibilities here: either she's telling the truth, or she's in love with you."

Guerrero choked, unable even to splutter a retort as cool tea slipped into his trachea.

"In my experience, the two are mutually exclusive: truth and love. Don't you find that, Mr. Guerrero?"

He leaned against a stack of boxes and coughed helplessly, eyes watering. She tilted her head in a parody of concern.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Plot and character development only in this chap. A little fluffy. Except for the Jay-Z. Can't believe I just said that. Anyway, limes soon. -ab

oooOOOooo

"I know," Ames sighed. "It looks like that Christmas movie where Jimmy Stewart pours out all the letters to Santa."

Dr. Birdsall stared around the conference room of the abandoned office building to which Guerrero had directed her. As Ames had indicated, messy piles of papers littered the room, covering both the table and the floor. The man himself sat at the head of the conference table, a laptop in front of him. "Hey, doc," he said mildly. "Glad you could make it." He gave her a thorough once-over, then returned his attention to the computer.

The doctor leaned over to Ames and whispered in her ear, "You like movies, Ames? Ever see 'Gone With the Wind'?"

Ames looked from Guerrero to the woman next to her, smiling curiously. "Yeah, sure. Great flick."

"You know that scene where Scarlett says that Rhett Butler makes her feel like he knows what she looks like without her clothes on?" She flicked her eyes meaningfully at Guerrero, who had just taken an enormous bite from a sandwich.

Dr. Birdsall grabbed Ames' hand as they struggled not to dissolve into giggles.

"Her curfew is twelve," Guerrero called down the length of the table.

"He thinks I'm hitting on you."

Ames released the doctor's hand, looking nervously at her associate. "Uhm, I'm not into-"

Dr. Birdsall waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not hitting on you, Ames. I just...uhm, I just value those relationships that I have a chance to make. Even if they're purely platonic," she added teasingly.

"Yeah, I guess it's hard for you to meet people. What with the security concerns."

"And the Glock," Guerrero interjected.

Ames pulled her mouth to the side. "Yeah, that must freak guys out." Slipping into a chair at the table, she leaned her elbows on a pile of letters and put her chin in her hands. "How long has it been since you, like, had a date?"

Dr. Birdsall took a seat halfway down the table, laughing ruefully.

"There's a fairly detailed rape threat in one of these piles here."

"Oh, Christ, Guerrero!" Ames swore, scandalized. "That's not even funny."

He shrugged. "You never know what people are into." His eyes flicked up involuntarily to see if Dr. Birdsall was wearing the necklace he had noticed earlier. A chain disappeared under the collar of her thin sweater; the pendant was invisible. The doctor gave him an appraising look.

"Let's just say that it's been a while," she said, turning back to Ames.

"Man, I don't know how you live without..." Ames mouthed the word "dick" to complete her sentence.

Dr. Birdsall gave her a very serious look. "They're doing amazing things with vibrators these days."

Ames hooted with laughter and threw one finger out toward the other woman. "Doc, I would be _proud_ to take you on a date! That is _awesome_!"

"For fuck's sake," Guerrero grunted. "Did I wander into the ladies' bathroom by mistake?" Ames and the doctor exchanged a glance. "And don't give each other _the look_, please." He took an aggressive bite of his sandwich.

"Why don't we get down to business?" Dr. Birdsall asked innocently, as if _he _had been the one holding things up. He chewed angrily in her direction, then pressed a few keys on his laptop. Ames flopped back in her chair. "I assume from your text that you were unable to detect any clues in my threats that might suggest who shot at me."

Guerrero nodded curtly. "Language was low-risk. No fingerprints that popped for anything violent."

"The police report didn't lead us anywhere, either," Ames added.

"You pulled the police report?" Dr. Birdsall asked in confusion.

He adjusted himself in his seat, glaring at Ames. "Took the liberty. Thought it might give us some help when we start after this guy."

"How did you-"

Ames interrupted the doctor, shaking her head hurriedly as if to say, "Don't ask".

"What I have now is a profile with cross-referencing of the repeat offenders. I'll give you a digital copy. But none of those profiles suggests someone willing to attempt assassination. Look, I can give you some names if you want a second opinion. Hey, I'm a professional, ok?" This last in response to the doctor's amazed glance. "But. I can guarantee you won't find anyone able find something I can't. I know a little something about risk assessment." He peered at her over his glasses. "Do you want us to pursue the shooter through other means?"

Dr. Birdsall sighed. "What means other than the police report do you intend to pursue?"

"Well, the police report could have been way more helpful than it was. But I do have contacts. It's not outside the realm of possibility..." He stated this last in a tone that suggested finding the shooter was well outside the realm of possibility.

The doctor shook her head, staring down at the table and chewing the inside of her cheek.

"You don't even want us to give it a try, doc?" Ames asked, concerned. "Something is better than nothing."

The older woman looked up, smiling gently. "If someone really wants to kill me, they'll find a way. I've been prepared for that eventuality for a long time."

"You're not afraid to die?" Ames ran a hand through her long brown hair uncomfortably.

"If you wanna be a fucking martyr, doc, go for it," Guerrero said sourly.

"I'd just as soon _not_ meet my end before it's absolutely necessary, thank you." She pulled a heavy envelope from her handbag and tossed it down the table at Guerrero. Several letters slid out of their messy piles as it skidded. Her dark eyes met his blue ones over the envelope.

"We scanned all the threat letters digitally," he said at last. "Those files are also on this thumb drive I'm going to give you. If you want the hard copies, we can have them in your storage unit by the end of the week."

"I'll give you the key," Dr. Birdsall said, reaching back into her handbag.

"Don't need it," Guerrero and Ames said at the same time. The doctor sat back and looked from one of them to the other. Guerrero ejected the thumb drive from his laptop and held it out to her. She leaned down the table to grasp it, but he did not release it immediately. He looked carefully into her eyes. "Doc, are you sure you don't want us to look into the shooter?"

She jerked the USB key sharply out of his hand and slipped it into her bag. "Ames, would you excuse us for a moment? I have an additional item of business to discuss with Mr. Guerrero." Her tone was cool as ice.

Ames looked at Guerrero in confusion. He sat back in his chair and flipped the lid of his laptop down. He squinted at Dr. Birdsall for a moment, then thumbed through the cash in the envelope. Removing $200 and folding it in half, he held it out to Ames with two extended fingers. "Beat it, dude."

Ames took the cash but did not move. Finally she glanced at the doctor and seemed to see something reassuring in the older woman's eyes. She stood, watching Guerrero, moving her head to a beat no one else could hear. "'I got a million ways to get it. Choose one. Hey, bring it back. I'll double your money and make a stack'," she sang, backing away. "See ya 'round, doc. 'Now I'm on to the next one...'"

"Until then, Ames," Dr. Birdsall called to the younger woman as she stalked out the door in her high-heeled ankle boots. She pulled the pendant out from behind the collar of her sweater and began to run it along her necklace chain in the nervous tic that Guerrero had noticed once before. She took a deep breath. "I do have another job I'd like to hire you for. Not to do with this." She waved a dismissive hand over the threat letters. "It's...a bit delicate."

_Someone's got something on her. _His curiosity was definitely piqued. He must have been smirking, because she smiled shyly at him.

"It's not what you think," she insisted.

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

She laughed softly. "I can assure you: _whatever_ you're thinking, it's not what I want from you."

He placed one hand on the laptop and leaned forward. "I'm a pretty creative guy, doc."

"'Zahra'."

"I'm a pretty creative guy, _Zahra_."

She stared down at the table, blushing. A tiny smile curved her lips. She ran the pendant up and down her chain.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: M warning for sexual language and some BDSM.

oooOOOooo

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," Zahra said, opening her front door into the artificial brightness of her apartment building's hallway.

Guerrero looked her over as he stepped inside. She hugged her short kimono tighter around her self-consciously. Her eyes seemed a little swollen, her nose reddish. Her eye make-up was smudged.

"No problem. I was in the neighborhood," he explained, gaze roving around her apartment. "Sorta. Do feel a little like a call-girl though."

"Is that a problem?"

He tilted his face back as if seriously considering the question. "Nope," he said at last. "Nice place. Your security system's shit though. And that doorman..."

She smiled. Her nerves showed through. "Come on in. Do you want something? Water? Tea?"

He shook his head as she led him to the couch and perched awkwardly next to him. He looked around him at her living space. Small dining room and kitchen; hall door, presumably a bathroom. A narrow staircase led up to a second floor. There were books and papers everywhere. She had a flat-screen tv that was flanked by a sizable DVD collection. Her place was not messy, but it was indubitably _lived-in_. "Sure youdon't want something yourself?" he asked. "A big-girl drink, maybe?"

"Oh, no. No alcohol," she answered hurriedly. Her eyes flashed anxiously toward him. "Are _you _sober?"

He made a face.

"Right. Professional."

"So..." He pulled off his jacket, removing the Jericho 9 mil from the back of his waistband and tucking it into one pocket of his jacket, which he draped over the sofa arm. "Why do you want me to do this?"

"Why?" she repeated stupidly. "'Why' isn't important."

Guerrero sat back on the couch, making himself comfortable, and fingered one of the throw pillows. "Let me clarify: why _me_? Don't you have a boyfriend or somebody who can do this?"

"Not this."

"So you do have a boyfriend? Or something?"

Zahra looked at him oddly for a long moment. "I have a couple that I play with from time to time, but this isn't their cup of tea."

"How many is 'a couple'?"

"Um, two. It's a man and a woman," she explained, just the hint of a blush pinking her cheeks. "They're not married, but they're long-term committed partners."

"A couple. Huh." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

She ignored his obviously prurient interest, fussing with one of her earrings. "So I decided I'd offer the job to you. Anyway, I didn't think this was the sort of thing you post on Craigslist."

"Oh, I think this is _exactly_ the kind of thing you post on Craigslist," Guerrero snorted. "Speaking of which, are you totally sure I didn't come here to kill you?"

"Because you were hired to, perhaps?" She grinned, which was not exactly the reaction he had expected. "Let's just say I ran a risk assessment."

"Oh, really?" he challenged, putting the throw pillow aside.

"I reckoned there were two outcomes to inviting you over, other than the desired one, and I decided you wouldn't kill me tonight. To mention only one sticking point, I'm a source of income for you. Killing me would eliminate the possibility of any future employment opportunities. How much could they possibly be paying you to take me out? More than you estimate you could earn from me in the future?"

Guerrero smirked at her lowball estimate of his price range _vis a vis_ wetwork. "What about if I killed you, looted your place, and fenced your stuff?" he asked mildly.

Zahra scrunched her face up thoughtfully. "No. Anyone who hired you to kill me would want it done publicly, an assassination. Shoot me while I'm jogging, for instance."

"That wasn't me, by the way." He folded his fingers in the Boy Scout honor sign. "I don't need to create business like that."

Zahra laughed, clasping her hands together. "I hadn't even considered that possibility! Just goes to show how foolish I am." She crossed her legs, and the bottom hem of her kimono slipped to the side. Guerrero tried not to tilt his head too obviously.

"Not so foolish," he reassured her, eyes on her upper thigh. "For instance, I'm sure you told someone I was coming over."

"Yeah?" She rose and tugged on her kimono to straighten it. She stepped toward the stairs up to her loft. "Like who?" she asked, leaning on the bannister. Guerrero took the opportunity to enjoy the full effect of Zahra in a short silk kimono, her hair knotted up into a loose bun. Her necklace, which he was now convinced bore a triskelion pendant, hung down toward the swell of her breasts. Her legs were slim and strong. He had never seen her in anything other than high heels; her bare feet on the carpet were somehow incongruous. Just looking at her, he could almost smell that fragrance he associated with her, that scent like suntan lotion and talcum powder. _I love this job already._

"What was the second outcome you considered? Other than me killing you?" He waited for her to say the word, already knowing what her response would be.

She shrugged as if the answer were obvious. "Blackmail." It was not the reply he had anticipated. He blinked, and she smiled at his confusion.

"That doesn't concern you?" he asked to recover his balance.

"As I understand it," Zahra answered, casting her eyes to the side almost coquettishly, "blackmail is predicated upon the notion that the victim does not want the pertinent information to become public knowledge."

"And you don't care," he stated.

"My neighbors already think I'm a murderer," she pointed out.

He pursed his lips in acknowledgment. She reached her hands up to fiddle with her bun. The movement tugged her kimono higher up on her thighs; the garment gaped open over her chest, exposing the curve of one breast. He suddenly realized that she would have to remove it entirely for him to do as she had requested.

_I am a fucking idiot, _he thought. "So where are we doing this?" he asked aloud, now eager to move things along.

She jerked her head further up the bannister. A set of leather cuffs dangled from one of the balusters. "I have low blood pressure sometimes, so if I call 'yellow', let me out of the cuffs quickly, ok?"

Her conversational tone intrigued him. Where had those nerves gone? Did the very act of putting the events in motion calm her? "Just so we're clear: I know why you want me to do this." Rising from the sofa, he unbuckled his belt and drew it out of the loops of his jeans.

To his surprise, Zahra stepped toward him, cocking her head and wrinkling her nose in a sort of scientific examination. "Just so we're clear," she echoed, "why do you think I want you to do this?"

"Guilt, dude," Guerrero replied mildly. Her mouth dropped open. He folded his belt in half and cracked the two halves together loudly. "And, Zahra, listen to me: you don't know from guilt."

She crossed her arms over her chest, temper flaring. He had definitely pushed a sensitive button. "I don't?"

He shook his head, looking away as if he were already past this conversation.

"Ok, so how many lives have you taken this week?" she demanded.

"This week?" He raised an eyebrow and made a show of calculating mentally. "Nah, it's been a slow week."

"Well, my body count is eight," Zahra announced gruffly, re-knotting the belt on her kimono. "No, nine; there was a set of twins."

He watched her for a moment, her dark eyes challenging him. He flipped the belt lightly against his knee. "And so you want me to smack you with this thing?"

"I want you to beat the living shit out of me," she replied levelly.

He eyed her bare legs, perusing the soft skin, fair despite its olive cast. She would bruise easily. "For how long?"

Her gaze did not flicker as she shrugged. "You're the expert. Pick a safe word if it makes you more comfortable." She turned on her heel and walked toward the bannister. "Something unlikely, if you please."

"How about 'penance'?"

"Thank god I'm not paying you to be funny," she commented drily. She unbelted her short kimono and let the silk slip over her shoulders and down her body, then stretched up to the leather cuffs dangling from the baluster.

_Dude, this job _rocks_._

It took him a moment for him to realize that he was licking his lips in a highly unprofessional way. Draping the belt around his neck, Guerrero reached up to fasten the cuffs on her wrists. Her skin was burning hot and did indeed radiate that wonderful smell of the beach. The side of his mustache rubbed against her upper arm, and he took the chance to peek down at her breasts. They were on the small side, but well-shaped and...his attention was arrested by the steel hoops that transfixed each of her nipples. _Oh my. _He tamped down the sudden swell of arousal that warmed his groin. Still, when he stepped back, he did not forget to appreciate the view.

"Nice ass, doc," he commented.

Zahra turned her head over her shoulder. The elevation of her arms forced her to arch her spine in a way that twisted her curvacious backside toward him. Her eyes were hooded with...what? Guerrero could not read her expression, but it was plain that she had surrendered herself: to him, to this experience, and to all the pain that came with it. A tendril of hair had escaped from her loose bun; it trailed over her temple. When he reached out to tuck it behind her ear, she tilted her cheek against his fingers. His hand shook as he lowered it, so he cupped it firmly around the smooth projection of her hipbone, drawing their bodies together. His lips came to rest against the nape of her neck. She was trembling.

"Last chance."

"I trust you," she breathed.

He released her hip and reached into his pocket. "You need your head examined," he insisted as he worked the ball-gag into her mouth.

oooOOOooo

He had fully intended to max her out, to bring her to the edge and make her use that safe word. He envisioned hearing two muffled syllables, seeing the surrender in her eyes, then ungagging her and asking her to repeat her word, so that her capitulation would be clear to both of them. But he began to feel an ache in his thrashing arm, and he started to worry that she would choke on the ball-gag because she was crying so hard.

Once he had made the decision, he had her down from the cuffs between one breath and the next, chafing circulation back into her arms. The gag came out next. She stumbled to the half-bath in the hallway without a word and slammed the door. He heard the faucet running. Sighing, he settled himself on the sofa.

The water shut off. He heard the bathroom door creak open. He did not turn his head, but his eyes swiveled sideways as he listened for her.

"Drawer in the table by the front door," she announced hoarsely. "Envelope has your money in it."

"How ya doin'?" he asked in as solicitous a tone as he knew how to adopt.

How she was doing became clear when he heard the thump. She had stumbled mounting the stairs and now crouched awkwardly over two risers, taking deep but shaky breaths. Her hand trembled as she reached out to pull herself upright again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Guerrero muttered. He leapt off the couch and grabbed her upper arm, hauling her to her feet. There was barely enough space for the two of them on one riser. He could smell the earthy scent of her sweat as he looped her left arm over his neck. But when he bent to tuck his arm behind her knees, she backed away, banging her hip on the wall. "Just let me carry you," he hissed in exasperation.

Zahra shook her head wearily, loose bun flopping. "Unh-unh."

"Dude," he swore. He grasped her far hip and steadied her as she mounted the narrow stairs. "This would be much easier if you weren't so damn stubborn." The top of the stairwell opened out into a small loft area with an attached bathroom. He helped her collapse onto the queen-size bed which occupied most of the space in the loft. He eyed the bedraggled bedsheets with interest. "Hm. I had you pegged as a bed-maker-upper."

She sprawled across the bed in a very unladylike pose and gulped water from a cup sitting on the bedside table. He thought he saw a flash of metal wink at him from between her hairless labia as she settled into a relatively comfortable position on her belly.

"Of course, didn't figure you had so many piercings either."

Her back was a patchwork of welts and abrasions. He had avoided her kidneys and her spine with the belt, and now those places seemed curiously bare of injury. They only made the marks stand out more. _His _work.

"Doc, you look supremely fuckable right now. I'm just sayin'."

"Like your pussy beaten and helpless, do you?" emerged her muffled voice from the pillow. Guerrero did a double-take at her foul language. "Go take a cold shower, perv."

"Sure, _I'm _the perv," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear, as he leaned into the bathroom. He pulled a hand-towel from the rack and doused it in cold water from the faucet. He began to crawl onto the bed next to her with the towel but stopped suddenly when he heard the sound of a safety clicking off. Zahra was rolling over, a nice little .22 appearing in her hand under the pillow. Guerrero grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the mattress, sprawling nearly on top of her. He looked up at the gun, then at her face. Her eyes were wide, her breathing heavy. He took his time and ran his gaze along the rest of her, ogling her naked body. Suddenly she bucked against him, struggling. He held her down with ease and sighed. "Amazing what a little adrenalin can do, huh? Look, Zahra, I'm totally enjoying this, but can we skip to the punchline: are you going to shoot me?"

The doctor grew very still and watched his eyes. "Depends. What are _you_ going to do?"

"Put this cool towel on your back to ease the bruising."

"You sure that's it?"

"Yes. Now, give me _that_." He wrenched the .22 out of her hand and ejected a round from the chamber, shaking his head. "I can't believe you sleep with a loaded gun. Dude, you are...will you marry me?"

She shot him a look that suggested matrimony was not in her immediate plans for him.

"Roll over." When she hesitated, he widened his eyes and repeated himself. She obeyed grudgingly, turning her face away from him. He retrieved the damp towel and draped it over her back. She hissed as the coolness came in contact with her burning, bruised skin. He sat back, settling himself against the headboard next to her. "Crazy broad."

"Am I crazy because I sleep with a loaded gun?" she asked the pillow. "Or because I paid you $350 to thrash me with a belt?"

Guerrero crossed his ankles. "A little from column A, a little from column B. And that was the sexy-chick discount, remember." He looked down and saw that her dark hair was falling out of its bun and tangled in her hairband. He carefully worked the elastic out and slipped it over his wrist, then arranged her thick tresses so they tumbled toward him and away from her face. He could hear her breath slowing.

"You know," he commented, "most people just masturbate so they can get to sleep at night."

Zahra giggled softly.

"Go to sleep, looney-tunes," he said quietly and stroked her hair until she obeyed.


	6. Chapter 6

The second time he came to her, she looked even more distraught, or else she had gone to fewer pains to conceal her anguish. Regardless, seeing the confident doctor in such a state disturbed him just as much as it had on the previous occasion. Without a word, he took her hand and pulled her into the lamplight, then slipped off her kimono. Her breath hitched periodically and her pulse was way too high as he examined her back for traces of their encounter weeks before. He found only a few miniscule scratches and discolorations that were almost healed.

"Do I pass inspection?" Zahra asked, her voice soft and hoarse.

"Take some deep breaths," he stated, one palm resting between her shoulder blades. "You need to calm down."

She turned to face him, simultaneously backing away. "You know what I need," she insisted. She stood unashamedly naked before him: delicate clavicle, firm breasts tipped with metal rings, strong rounded belly, bare sex, powerful legs. Her hooded dark eyes pulled him toward her. He hooked her into the cuffs.

Afterward, her entire demeanor changed, just as it had the last time. She chuckled wearily, producing tiny "ouch" sounds, when Guerrero helped her up the stairs to her bed. Still, when he fetched a damp towel from the bathroom, he hesitated before sitting down next to her. Her arms were stretched out on either side of her prone form, hands palm up on the bed. It was not a particularly good position, from a defensive standpoint, but he knew she could move fast when she wanted to.

"It's safe," she groaned, twisting her head on the pillow to face him and waggling her fingers to emphasize the emptiness of her hands. "I'm unarmed."

He grunted doubtfully but clambered next to her and laid the cool towel carefully over her abused back. He had been able to pace himself better this time, understanding both her limits and his own. He was glad to see her eyes now dilated with endorphins. _He _had done that, given her the pain she seemed to crave and now this rush of pleasure filling the gaps where the agony had been.

"I can see you becoming a very expensive habit," she murmured.

"That's why I stick to sugar," he sighed jokingly. "Readily available and cheap."

"Sure. With a five-finger discount," Zahra teased, letting her eyes flutter closed. He sat next to her in silence for some time.

"Sorry about last time," she said at last, ruefully. He looked down to see her staring into the middle distance. "I...may have overreacted."

"A .22 is never an overreaction," Guerrero corrected her. He shifted into a more comfortable position against the headboard, one leg bent and the other straight. "But, uh, no apology necessary. I would have done the same thing if I were you. Of course, if I were you, I'd spend the bulk of my time in a hot bubble bath. Just, you know, enjoying the girl parts."

Zahra chuckled. Scooting one hand up to his leg, she began to trace the seam of his jeans with one fingertip. "I'd trusted you that far, though. It was unfair of me to abandon that trust."

"When I do a job, I do it well," he told her calmly. "And I don't shit where I eat."

She wrinkled up her nose and giggled. At that moment, cuddled into her bed, messy hair piled on top of her head and face, he thought she could have passed for much younger than her true age; just a college kid maybe, with this bleak future of abortions and armaments not yet written. "I've never really understood that saying. What does it mean?"

Guerrero took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I think it means that you don't ruin a good thing."


	7. Chapter 7

It was two months before he found himself back in Zahra's bed, tending the welts and abrasions he had just raised with his belt. She lay closer to him this time, head curled against his hip.

"I hear you've been taking Ames out on chick-dates."

"Who told you that?" she asked, smiling lazily at the precise way he pronounced 'chick-dates'. "Laverne?"

Guerrero took a deep breath to express his annoyance. "Winston and I don't talk unless absolutely necessary. Like, maybe if someone might get shot. We certainly don't talk about your Sapphic pursuit of Ames."

"Wow. "Sapphic"," she muttered to his upper thigh. "Why does it bother you so much that I enjoy Ames' company?"

"Because she's _annoying_. And what the hell do you talk about? Other than vibrators, I mean."

Zahra rolled her eyes. "We get a drink, or lunch. We have a good time. And she watches my back, which is a plus." She stretched her arms and legs without moving her core. He enjoyed watching the delicate interplay of fat, muscle, and sinew underneath her smooth skin. "My intentions are purely honorable, I assure you."

"So her virtue is safe?"

"I don't know about that. She's been seeing this guy named Jason. Have you met him?"

"Jason, huh?" Guerrero scratched his bearded chin. "No. But that explains a lot of ridiculous giggling and texting. And giggling ridiculously while texting."

Zahra smiled in sympathy with her friend's _affaire de coeur_. "Yeah, she really likes him. He sounds nice, I guess. I imagine that she and I aren't really attracted to the same type of man."

Guerrero hummed a response, then sat up and peeked under the towel on her back, grimacing. "I think I went too hard on this one spot. Ooh, that's gonna be a bitch of a hematoma. Icepack in the freezer?" He was already halfway down the stairs.

"I think it's in one of the door shelves," she called after him.

When he returned, Zahra was sitting up on the bed, twisting around in an awkward pose to catch a glimpse of the bruise in question. "Do I wanna know?" she asked him as he took a seat next to her. The doubtful cant of his mouth sent her stumbling off the bed toward the mirror in the bathroom.

"Whoa, hey. Hold it. Not yet." He tugged her back onto the edge of the bed and placed the icepack against the huge purpling spot on the back of her ribcage.

"Ow, ow," she cautioned him in a tiny voice, arching her skin away from the cold pressure.

"Ssh, okay. Alright." He stroked the nape of her neck with the knuckles of his free hand. She began to relax, and Guerrero was intrigued to note that her nipples had hardened. From the cold? "So are those things purely decorative?" He leaned further over her shoulder so she could see his eyes flashing toward the rings in her nipples. Zahra produced a Mona Lisa smile that made him swallow heavily.

At that moment his smartphone buzzed, vibrating in his jeans pocket. The doctor peered curiously over her shoulder as he checked the text: it was an address near The Mission. "Damn. I gotta go. Another job." He quickly messaged back: _1 hr_.

Zahra's head pulled back in disbelief. "It's almost three in the morning!" she reminded him.

Guerrero stood reluctantly and shoved his phone back into his pocket. She accepted the icepack from his other hand, looking up at him. "These guys don't exactly keep regular office hours." She rose and pushed her arms around his neck. He hugged her gently, careful of her back but all too aware of her warm, fragrant skin pressing against him.

"Thanks," she whispered into his ear, then planted a kiss on his jaw.

His lips traced along her cheekbone, tasting the salty remnants of her tears, and found her mouth briefly. She pulled her face away as if she had been stung, her arms still laced around him. Her dark eyes narrowed in embarrassment and frustration. "I don't like to kiss. On the mouth, I mean."

Guerrero stared at her in confusion, a laugh bubbling in his throat. "What are you, a pro?"

"No," she replied unnecessarily. A blush tinged her cheeks. "I just don't like it. Kissing."

He shook his head, chuckling, and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "You are some crazy chick, you know that? Most broads would rather kiss than just about anything else."

Zahra pressed her lips together to indicate that she had no response to this.

"All right," he said softly. "See ya later, doc." He pressed his cheek against her temple and tripped down the stairs. He paused briefly at the table by the door, where his payment, $350 in cash, lay in a plain white envelope; underneath was a pack of Twizzlers. He grinned.

"Don't get a cavity," her voice trailed down the stairs.

He took the candy and left the money.


	8. Chapter 8

He rolled over and brought his smartphone close to his face to check the screen for the caller i.d. _Ames_. He briefly considered exploring the phone's aerodynamic properties. Against his better judgment, however, he answered the call.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he grunted, scratching his chest.

"Nearly one p.m., ya bum," Ames said, very quickly and quietly. "I need you at Zahra's. Do you know the address?"

Guerrero sat up in bed. "Yeah, I know the address." He snatched up his glasses and brought the world into focus. "What's going on? Is everything okay?" He grabbed for a pair of boxers and pulled them on, cradling the phone against his shoulder.

"I need your help with something. How fast can you get here?"

"Jesus, gimme a clue!" he swore, bending to pick his jeans up off the floor. "Can't you-"

"Just get here," Ames hissed, and hung up.

Seventeen minutes later he slipped past the doorman to Zahra's building in a distressingly easy manner and jogged up the stairs to her floor. He took a mental inventory en route: he had his Jericho, the Sig Sauer P220s strapped into his double shoulder holster, and a Ruger LCP in his ankle holster. Unfortunately, the AR had to be left in the ElDo. Zahra would have her 9mil and the .22. Did she own another weapon? Did she have her Kevlar with her? He wondered if Ames might be carrying, but he doubted it. Everything would depend on what type of force they were up against.

Easing himself around the door from the stairwell, he scanned the empty hallway. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He dialed Ames' cell one-handed. She picked up on the first ring. "Hey, where are you?"

"End of the hall," he murmured, eyes roving from apartment door to apartment door along the corridor. Zahra's door opened, and Ames' head poked out. She stared at him in confusion.

"What are you doing down there?"

"How about a sit rep?" he whispered angrily into the phone. "Is that too much to ask for?"

"Just get in here," Ames called _sotto voce_, looking worriedly back into the apartment.

"Is it a sniper? How many are there?" he asked his phone, but she had already hung up.

"What?" she mouthed at him. "Come on!"

Frustrated, Guerrero threw his arms out to the side. "How many?" he barked, at a higher volume than intended.

Ames winced, squeezing her face into a "ssh" expression. Zahra appeared in the doorway. When she saw Guerrero, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the doorframe.

"Would you get her inside, please?" he hissed at Ames, gesturing urgently toward Zahra.

Both women stared at him like he was insane. He crossed the length of the hallway quickly. The doctor put her hand out for him to take when he got close enough. "I had no idea she was going to call you," she began. Guerrero cut her off with a look, ushering the women into the apartment. He shut the door and bolted it, then hurried over to the window to close the curtains.

"Now, could one of you tell me what the fuck is going on?" Guerrero looked back and forth from one woman to the other, fury bubbling in his belly.

Zahra plopped down into an armchair and put her head in her hands. Ames was covering her mouth, trying to hold back a giggle as she stared at the Sigs strapped under his arms. "I didn't think you were going to come in here like...like Dirty Harry!"

"Dirty Harry carried a .44 Magnum," Zahra moaned. "Oh, shit." Looking up at him, she put one hand in the air. "I swear by all that is holy, Guerrero-"

"You: save it. You," he spat, pointing at Ames, "talk. Fast." The young woman glanced nervously at Zahra. "Don't look at her. Look at me."

"I called you," Ames said very clearly and deliberately, "because someone has been beating on Zahra. She has bruises all over her back." She flung her arm out toward the doctor, who was staring at her hands folded in her lap.

Dark eyes rose to meet his blue ones. "I didn't mean for her to see them. The hem of my top pulled up when I leaned over, and she went ballistic."

He settled onto the couch, sighing.

"Guerrero, don't sit _down_!" Ames exclaimed. "We've got to take care of this guy. I'm not just gonna let him hurt Zahra like this." She looked from him to the doctor, then back to him. They were silent. She cocked her head suddenly. "Wait. Do you _know _about this? What's going on_?_"

He watched Zahra. _It's your call_, his gaze said. The doctor scratched her eyebrow and then put her hand out to Ames. "Sit down here with me," she said, drawing the younger woman down onto the arm of her chair. "I was trying to explain without giving you all the details, but...well, Guerrero does know about the bruises. He knows because he's the one who gave them to me. I asked him to." Ames stared at her blankly. "I paid him to."

"You paid him to..."

"...whale on her with my belt. Yeah, dude," Guerrero clarified, settling himself more comfortably on the sofa. "For a good fifteen or twenty minutes. She's pretty tough."

"With your _belt_?"

He shrugged, in the process of stripping off his jacket and shoulder holster. "Not the buckle end," he insisted. He looked at Zahra, but her eyes were back on her lap. At that moment she did not seem at all like the type of woman who would pay a guy like him to do such a thing to her, not in that demure white blouse and crinkly green skirt over flat sandals, her hair swept neatly behind her ears. She did not even look like the type of woman who would _talk _to a guy like him.

A ripple suddenly moved over Ames' face, and her eyes got very wide. "Omigod," she gasped. "Are you guys having _sex_?"

Tiredly, Zahra leaned her head against Ames' arm. "Nooo. It's not a sex thing. Sometimes I just...I need something like that so I can stay on my path."

The young brunette rose awkwardly, chewing her thumbnail.

"I didn't want you to know. I didn't know how to tell you. It's-"

"Look," Ames interrupted. "This is kinda crazy. I, uh, I need to process this." She paced toward the door, then back to Zahra's chair, then back to the door. "Ok. I'll call you later."

Zahra nodded reluctantly. Ames slipped out and left the doctor alone with Guerrero.

"You could have told her 'yes'," he commented when the door had shut. He laid his Jericho on the coffee table along with the two Sig Sauers. She eyed the small arsenal with the air of someone who wants to ask but will not bother.

'''Yes' what?"

"'Yes, we're having sex.'" He shrugged. "You know she would tell Chance and Winston, my stock would go through the roof..."

"...and Winston would come after you with a carving knife," Zahra finished, flopping back in her chair. The ghost of a smile was curving her lips.

"This is my terrified look," Guerrero scoffed, deadpan.

"With three handguns, maybe," she teased, indicating the coffee table with her eyes.

"Four." He lifted the cuff of his jeans to display the grip of the Ruger sticking out of his boot from his ankle holster. "For future reference, never wake me out of a dead sleep and call me for help without giving specifics." He swung his boots onto the table next to his firearms.

"Make yourself at home," Zahra said drily. She rose and went into the kitchen, then returned with a bowl of hummus, a round of pita bread, and a glass of iced tea, all of which she handed to Guerrero.

"Sweet. Thanks," he said, tearing off a piece of pita and digging into the dip. "Mmm, that's good."

She slid onto the couch near him and laid an arm over the back, tucking one knee over the other ankle. "Just like _Sito_ used to make. 'Grandma'," she added by way of explanation.

"You made this? It's awesome," he mumbled through a mouthful.

"I do have my uses," she sighed, rubbing her forehead, watching him munch contentedly. "So. Ames. She's really freaked out."

"She'll get over it."

Zahra fussed with her skirt, spreading it out over her lap and ankle. After a moment she chuckled softly and blushed. "Do you really think I'm tough?" she asked shyly.

Guerrero scooped up a large dollop of hummus and squinted at it. "I've broken grown men with far less that what you take from me." He popped the slathered wedge of bread in his mouth.

I..._think_ I'm flattered," she muttered, pulling a face. "Besides, what we do is totally different."

"Sure, it is. You know I won't hurt you." He took a swallow of tea.

The corner of her mouth crept up in a grin as she twisted the hem of her skirt around one finger. "Oh, you hurt me plenty. But I trust you not to _harm_ me."

"I have no idea why," he said, waving his glass at her.

"Don't you trust _me_? Just a little bit?"

Her voice was quiet but strong, but he could not read her tone. Wounded? Seductive? He leaned forward to place the now-empty bowl and glass on the coffee table and ran his tongue around his teeth, delaying his answer.

Zahra cocked her head and smiled at his obvious discomfiture. "So you wouldn't let me put _you_ in those cuffs?"

"And have your way with me?" he suggested, looking up at her in interest, one eyebrow raised.

"You might not like my way."

He grinned and slipped his hand under her skirt to stroke her bare knee. "Oh, I think-"

A knock at the door interrupted him. "Zahra? It's me. Hey, I'm sorry about earlier."

Guerrero rolled his eyes and retracted his hand. The doctor went to the door to let Ames back in.

"Jesus, are you still here?" the girl cried when she saw Guerrero. She looked back at Zahra and tilted her hip out. "You let him beat on you while I was gone?"

Swinging up off the couch, he grabbed the empty dishes and disappeared into the kitchen. He was practically growling.

Ames looked at Zahra and her face cracked in a smile. "You're fucked up, doc, but who am I to judge?" She put an arm around the older woman's waist.

"Are you two gonna have make-up sex?" Guerrero called from the kitchen.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Not the best chap ever - eh, plot. Knob Creek! Drink it if ya got it!

oooOOOooo

"Is Doctor Birdsall available?" the guard drawled into the phone, completely unhurried, eyes on Guerrero.

The bespectacled man slouched against the driver's-side door of the El Dorado, checking his smartphone in a show of nonchalance. Actually, he was re-reading texts from Zahra for the tenth time. It made him feel like a teenage stalker, but he found himself doing it again and again.

_Jumping at shadows_, she had written. _Don't know when u r coming 2 collect $$ I O U. _

_$$ ?_ he had replied.

_Didn't take ur payment last time. Know u don't 3 debts._

_I'll take payment l8r ;}, _he had texted.

_With interest?_

He had not responded to this last one yet, unsure exactly what he wanted to say. He was could not say for sure why he had walked out the door without his cash that night, and he was not about to address it with her via SMS. Nor was he certain that he should continue the flirtatious banter into which she was clearly leading him.

"That, uh, gentleman from your security group is here," the guard was telling Zahra over the phone. "No, not that one...Yeah, him. Want me to send him in?...Ok, will do." He hung up and punched the button for the gate. He gestured at Guerrero with a stony look on his face that suggested his opinion differed from the doctor's as to whether the "gentleman" should be admitted.

Guerrero hopped into the ElDo and cruised nto a space near the front door, through which he had never yet entered the clinic. An admin at the desk buzzed him in. She looked at him like a scared rabbit. Zahra was waiting on the other side of the reception station and waved him around. Certain fantasy options played through his mind when he spotted the white coat covering her blouse and tailored pants, high heels peeking out below the hems. Her hair was tucked back in a professional bun. It had been so long since he had seen her in this incarnation. Without a word, she led him down the hall, face neutral.

"Is it that hot blond?" a woman's voice said eagerly as they passed the records room.

"Oh. No, it's the skeevy one," another woman answered. Zahra did not seem to hear. She preceded him into her office and sat behind her desk. He shut the door, then settled into one of the chairs on the patient side, far more discomfited by the formality of this arrangement than he permitted his body language to express. Then she met his eyes, and he could see right through her.

"Hi," she said softly.

Guerrero crossed his legs and stuck his tongue into his cheek, thinking for a long moment about how much to tell her. _Everything, dude. Tell her everything._ "Zahra," he said, plunging in, "I may have a lead on him. The fucker who shot at you. I may have him."

She stared at him for a minute, eyes searching his face. Then she rose and came around the desk. "I thought you said the trail was cold." She sat down in the chair next to him. He could see that it was her now, under the bitch-cold hairstyle and the labcoat. It was the the Zahra of leather cuffs and silk robes. _His _Zahra.

"I said the police report and the threats didn't lead anywhere. But remember that I offered to pursue it anyway."

She turned her head slightly to watch him out of the corner of her eye. "And I declined."

He shifted and scratched the edge of his mustache.

"But you pursued it anyway," she stated. "For free." There was a tone to her voice that he could not place. She sat back and crossed her arms. The cream of her blouse made her eyes look coffee-dark. "Looks like I'm in hock to a very scary guy."

He sensed that this was his cue to smile, but he did not. "I made some independent inquiries." Zahra eyed him with a look that suggested she understood exactly what this entailed. "They led me to a couple of pro-life-extremist types who're holed up at a paramilitary compound with some NorCal nutjobs. I'm pretty sure one of them is your shooter."

"So how do we find out for sure?"

He pursed his lips and brushed at his jeans.

"Oh. Ok." Zahra sat back, watching his face carefully. "How do you get to him?"

"That's the thing: he came to us. He's in town." Her eyes went wide, startled. "I showed the guard a picture of him, but it sounds like he hasn't come around here yet."

"Let me see it," she said hurriedly.

"What? The photo?" Guerrero watched her for a second before he called up the DMV image on his smartphone. She stared at the nondescript Caucasian male, mid-thirties, brown hair, light eyes. He hit the power button and returned the phone to his pocket. "I have reason to believe he'll make another attempt on your life in the next forty-eight hours." He reached over and took her chin in his hand. "But I'm not gonna let that happen. However," he made a face, dropping his hand. "I do need you to help me flush him out."

She shrugged, trying to play it nonchalant. "Sure. No problem."

"Good girl." He stared into her eyes, gauging her. _She can do this._ "Can you get out the gate without that guard?"

"Without Ken? Yeah, I can swipe my I.D." Her eyebrows were furrowed in an attempt to anticipate his plan.

"What time does he bail?"

"Around 5:30, when everyone's out."

"Ok, well, you're staying late tonight."

oooOOOooo

Zahra leaned toward the keypad with her I.D. Tag.

"Allow me." Guerrero pushed a button on his smartphone, then waved the device at the keypad on the outside of the gate, which jerked its way open.

"Oh," she said drily. "You have an app for that." She stepped toward the ElDo, where he was holding the passenger-side door open for her.

"If I can get into this place," he stated seriously, "anyone can."

She squinted at him. "I'm not entirely sure that's true." Her petite body folded itself into the car. He pushed the door shut and circled the car to slide into the driver's-side. "You think he's watching us now?" Her eyes shone with sudden vulnerability in the twilight.

He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. "There's a pick-up down the street," he told the back of her hand, squeezing it when she began to turn her head. "Don't look. He's been out here most of the evening. Now we draw him out." He kissed her warm skin. "The Kevlar needs to come off," he said regretfully. "No vest, no gun. He has to see you like that."

"Ok," said simply, obediently. She withdrew her hand to undo the buttons of her coat.

oooOOOooo

She tucked herself under his left arm, eyes wide with anxiety. He looked around casually as they walked toward the bar, like a man who wants to be sure how jealous others are of his date. "You're fine," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Trust me."

"I do," she replied. The sudden easiness of her smile dragged at his insides. It terrified him.

_Fuck. Please stay on your toes,_ he told himself. _Please._

Guerrero guided her to a table right by the window and sat her facing away from it. He could tell she was struggling not to turn her head as she tucked her purse under the chair. She crossed her legs and arms, curling herself into a tight line, and licked her lips. He slouched into the chair across from her.

A redheaded waitress, older than him, huge rack. "What can I get you?"

"Knob Creek?" Zahra asked. The redhead nodded, then looked at him.

"Club soda. Lime."

Zahra put her chin in her hands and sighed, embarrassed. "God, talk to me about something. The back of my neck is creeping."

"You're doing fine," he soothed her, smiling. He rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward, eyes flicking from her to the window. The streetlight let him see some details outside, but only through his reflection. _Distract her._ "I was thinking about what you said." He stopped and wrinkled his nose, hesitant. The waitress approached and set their drinks on the bistro table. Guerrero handed her a twenty, and she disappeared in a satisfactorily speedy manner. Zahra practically grabbed at her bourbon. He watched with an odd satisfaction as she took a sip, letting her eyes flutter closed; he could almost feel the liquor sparking its fire on her tongue and down her throat. He had a sudden and uncontrollable vision of himself kissing her with his mouth full of Knob Creek, allowing the warming fluid to trickle between her lips as he slid his tongue in.

"What I said about what?" she prompted, taking a second sip.

He sighed. "About putting me in the cuffs." He was not really trying to avoid her gaze, but he kept watch for the man in the pick-up, and it came to the same thing. "I'm willing to give it a go."

Zahra was trying to restrain her amazed delight. "Think you can handle it?" she teased.

"Hmph." He chucked the wedge of lime from his glass' rim into the soda. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"I'm not giving you any hints," she said, grinning. "But it definitely involves having my way with you."

Just hearing her say it sent blood rushing to his groin. As a result, he almost missed the bearded man letting down the gate on his truckbed. "Shit. That's him."

Zahra's knuckles went white around her glass. He could see her jaw clenching.

"Wait at least ten minutes before you call a cab," he said, rising. "I'm going out the back."

"Hell of a date you are." She was smiling bravely.

"It's over tonight, Zahra."

"It's never over."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Warning for violence and torture. This _is _Guerrero we're talking about, peeps.

oooOOOooo

INTERLUDE: DAVID MILLNER

Guerrero could see that the bearded man was working his wrists together, trying to ease out of the zip-tie. He knew from the experience that the rough plastic would only shred his skin. Not even Ames could extricate herself from those things.

He had been wearing Millner down for over an hour without asking him any specific questions. Having no idea why he had been kidnapped, the man was nearly frantic with the desire to please his captor. A truck rumbled along the overpass above their heads, and the would-be assassin's eyes went wide at the menacing noise. Guerrero decided that Millner was ready.

"Dr. Zahra Birdsall," he said, slowly and clearly.

The captive man's mouth twitched, and Guerrero could sense the show of bravado before it came: "Who's that? Your urologist?"

He swung back his arm and struck the man across the face, aiming for the cheekbone. There was no crunch, but Millner's head rocked back in a very satisfying manner. Guerrero was not usually one for such a brainless form of interrogation, but he was unable to concentrate enough for the more creative techniques he ordinarily employed. Beating the man with his own hands had a macho, visceral appeal that seemed appropriate to the circumstances.

"Dr. Birdsall."

Millner regarded his interlocutor through the one eye which was not swollen shut. He worked his jaw slowly and painfully, checking to determine if it was still functional. He said nothing.

Guerrero punched him twice, quickly and sharply, once in the solar plexus and once in the windpipe; he hoped that Millner did not have heart trouble. The man toppled over, slipping sideways against the stanchion onto the sandy, litter-strewn ground. He gasped for breath and retched simultaneously. His mouth opened and closed like a landed trout's.

"She was jogging," Guerrero prompted, when Millner no longer seemed to be hyperventilating.

"It was Peter's idea," he croaked.

"Peter Richards?" Guerrero confirmed. The beginnings of something like triumph wriggled through his belly. He crouched on his haunches to better hear Millner's next words.

The man nodded, chest heaving. "But I went because I'm the better shot."

"Christ," Guerrero swore. "Richards must have some piss-poor fucking aim. Chuckleheads."

"What do you want me to do?" Millner hissed. He struggled upright and leaned his head back against the concrete. "Tell the cops that I did it?"

"Not necessary." He jerked his head toward the rocks that lined the shore of the bay, several meters away. He did not bother flashing his gun. "Let's go."

"What're you gonna do?" the man slurred worriedly, but he was already stumbling to his feet and lurching toward the water. Guerrero pulled the knife out of his boot. He directed the bound man onto one of the larger rocks. "You gonna cut my throat?"

The wavy-haired head shook a negative. "Not unless you wriggle too much." He shoved Millner to his knees, then cut the hooded sweatshirt and tee from the captive's torso, stuffing some of the fabric into the man's mouth. Grasping the brown hair in his left hand, Guerrero sliced into the pro-lifer's chest. Millner groaned into the gag, struggling to twist away. Guerrero kicked him in the belly and followed him to the ground, continuing his work. He carved five letters into the living flesh, clumsy hieroglyphs that would be enough to help the police close their attempted murder case. When he was done, he pulled the cloth from Millner's mouth.

"Why did you and Richards plan to do it?" It was a ridiculous question, but he wanted to hear the answer. Needed to.

Tears were leaking from Millner's one visible, blood-shot eye. His head rolled bonelessly on his neck. "To save the babies, man," he hissed, unable to activate his vocal cords. "That murdering bitch..." He curled awkwardly onto his side, hands swelling purple behind his back.

Guerrero nodded, then crunched a few of the man's fingers under his boot. Millner barked out a yelp of pain. "Where's Richards now?" The man muttered something that Guerrero could not hear. He leaned forward to listen more closely, putting more of his weight on the man's head until small bones crunched. Millner kicked helplessly.

"Still at Green Mountain!" he whisper-shrieked.

The compound in NorCal. His contact in Redding could give him some more help with that. Alejandro hated those paramilitary douchebags.

"That's everything. That's all I know," Millner was gasping.

"I believe you."

The man's light eye turned up to him with a look perversely close to gratitude, but Guerrero was already screwing the silencer onto his Jericho. He put three 9mm slugs in Millner's brainpan, then shoved him into the bay with his foot. Hopefully the current would keep the body close to shore and allow him to be found shortly.

He waited to call Alejandro until he had located the third unobtrusive alley dumpster into which he could throw a portion of the detritus from David Millner's end, then he headed home for a shower.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: According to a show I watched with my hubby today, Guerrero should be carrying Sig P229s in addition to his Jericho, not P220s. P229s are apparently the small semi-auto pistol of choice. However, my husband's firearms enthusiasm notwithstanding, I still have problems with the 2nd Amendment, crunchy commie liberal that I am.

Nonetheless, I am pleased to present to y'all a chapter on which I must put a warning for sexual language and BDSM, including a scene of body modification. ;D

oooOOOooo

Zahra texted him the next day: _My place. 9 p.m._

He was there at 8:56.

She opened the door and said, "Velcome," in a ridiculous Transylvanian accent, a wry smile curving the corner of her mouth. She wore a bat-winged, loose-woven dress in a pattern like a Greek key. It was short and tight, and it was the sort of dress a woman wore when she wanted to party.

_Oh, Santa_, he thought. _I have been _such _a good boy this year..._

She stepped forward to kiss his cheek. In high, high heels, she was almost taller than him. She was wearing a scent that he did not recognize; it was deep and musky. He wondered if she had worn it purposefully, to reinforce for him that tonight she would be a different Zahra than he was used to.

When she took his hand to lead him further inside the apartment, her thumb traced over his scraped and battered knuckles. She held his hand up to the light and examined it carefully. "How's the other one?" she asked.

"Fine," he brushed her off, shrugging. "It's just the right."

Zahra eyed him skeptically, doctor-mode taking control. "Are you sure? Guys get terrible subcutaneous infections all the time from something as simple as a barfight."

_This was no barfight, cupcake. _Guerrero favored her with the thousand-yard stare that sent most people who knew him scurrying. She just gazed back, throwing out an open palm after a moment. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and placed his left hand in hers. She studied it in the light, then nodded with satisfaction.

"Next time you will follow my instructions with more...alacrity," Zahra said archly. His eyebrows flew up at the commanding tone she was able to express with such a low volume.

_Awesome. This is going to be _awesome_. _"Yes, ma'am," he answered.

She watched his eyes for a long moment to see if he was being serious or impudent. At last, without communicating her conclusion, she turned on her heel and led him into the kitchen.

She did not ask about David Millner, and he volunteered nothing.

There was a single chair sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, her tiny breakfast table and the other chair having been shoved into a corner. Guerrero's mind immediately set to processing the possibilities. He was not entirely sure, however, that the options he would pursue with such a configuration were what Zahra had in mind. Still his brain worked the problem: single chair in a kitchen...With a thrill of interest, he wondered if food would be involved in her plans for him

"Sit down," Zahra said with easy confidence.

Guerrero obeyed. With alacrity. His eyes continued to scan the room for clues. He noticed an array of objects on the table; they were covered with a towel. He choked back a chuckle.

"Are you looking forward to this?" she asked. There was some kind of trick in the question. He ignored it.

"Oh, I am, beautiful."

She stepped toward him, her stride slow and deliberate. The sway of her hips drew his gaze immediately. There was nothing specifically threatening about her movements, but his heart began to beat a little faster anyway. She stopped just in front of him and stood one foot turned out, hand on the other hip. She regarded him for a long moment, face unreadable. Guerrero stared back. Zahra took another step forward and leaned over him. Her fingers stretched out to brush the hair off of his forehead. She touched him more than was strictly necessary, seeming to enjoy the softness of his sandy locks. Then she grasped his glasses by the earpieces and pulled them off. His world lost focus.

_Smart girl_.

He heard a click as she set his glasses down on the counter. Her heels clacked on the kitchen floor, passing around behind him. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, then smoothed down over his arms, lightly pulling them backward and together. He obeyed her, waiting for...yes, cold metal against his fingers. She closed the handcuffs around his wrists. He felt her breath against his ear. "Now slip 'em," she commanded.

"What?" he inquired innocently, although he had heard her perfectly well.

"Get yourself out of the cuffs," she elaborated. "I know you can do it. Here: I'll time you. One." She brushed her lips against the side of his neck. "Two." She kissed him again, her palms running down his chest. It was very distracting. "Three...do you mean to say you can't do this? Four..."

Guerrero set to work. It was difficult going, what with her lips and fingers caressing him, her breath hot against his neck, but he had done this under more stressful circumstances. She was only on 'eleven' when he raised his hands, the cuffs dangling limply from one wrist.

"Oh!" she gasped with genuine delight. He had hoped for a less _merry_ reaction. "I had no idea you could do it so quickly!" He felt a stupid flush of pleasure at her enthusiasm; she was practically clapping her hands. But when she paced around in front of him, lowering her face to within easy view of his myopia, the grin faded into something less innocent. "So here is the real test," she said. "Put them back on."

He smirked at her skeptically.

"You heard me. Put your hands behind your back and cuff yourself again. I want you restrained."

Rolling his ice-blue eyes, he obeyed her. He could always slip the cuffs again, if he really needed to. Besides, if Zahra wanted to play with him unhindered, who was he to spit against the wind?

"Well done." Without warning Zahra slid into his lap, straddling him. "Not too heavy, am I?" she murmured solicitously, stroking his jawline. He shook his head, fighting the grin that bubbled across his lips. He looked down, enjoying the way that her dress had ridden up on her thighs until he could just make out the crotch of her panties with his nearsighted vision. He squinted to see better: ivory lace that brought out similar tones in the flesh of her strong legs. He inhaled her new, unfamiliar fragrance, hoping to catch the scent of her arousal. Her hands slid down to his chest, parting his black leather vest; her fingers lingered on the soft material. Then she began to loosen his tie. The smile finally won out, and he beamed like a jack o'lantern.

"What are you grinning about?" she purred.

He drew a breath to answer but froze when she pulled his tie over his chin and tightened it around his eyes, simply but effectively blindfolding him. He was not entirely comfortable with this level of vulnerability, as a general rule. Nevertheless, he tried to relax into the play-acting. He did, after all, have an attractive woman sitting on his lap. As if to reassure him, she turned her attention to his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly and seductively. He closed his eyes under the tie. With one swift movement, she flipped his shirt and vest over his shoulders, imprisoning his arms even tighter. He bit back a laugh: she was clever, he would give her that, but she was definitely not scaring him. He did allow his head to fall back, though, as her fingers crept under the hem of his t-shirt and slid up his belly. Her nails trailed lightly through the hair on his chest. Boldly, she stroked one of his nipples, and he caught his breath at the sudden pleasure that thrilled through him.

"Oh, are you sensitive?" she whispered. She placed her fingernails a few centimeters above his nipple and dug in to the meat of his pectoral. The sudden pain was a shock, but Guerrero easily kept his reaction to a tiny grunt.

Zahra flipped the hem and collar of his t-shirt over his head. The twisted fabric bunched up behind his neck and shoulders increased the feeling of bondage slightly, but he was still not impressed. Nor did he think she was on to much when she tweaked his left nipple, hard. Her tongue flicking lightly against his right nipple, however, did provide an interesting counterpoint of sensation. His left nipple became a blur of pain as she continued to squeeze it.

"Oh. Ow. Ow. That's too much. Stop," he announced in a monotone. "What's my safe word?"

"What, you want a safe word? You big baby," she teased, and then suddenly her weight, her touch, and the pain were gone. He heard her moving around, shifting things. She took her time about it. He heard metal clinking, and he had to actively work his breath under control, fighting the adrenaline rush of anticipation.

_Ok, maybe she _does_ know something about how this goes..._

She dragged the breakfast table up next to him and resumed her position in his lap. This time the curvy heat of her weight titillated less and menaced more. She smoothed the skin of his chest; she seemed to be examining him for something. He heard the sound of an aerosol can, and then felt her apply a foam to the area around each of his nipples: shaving cream. He started grinning again.

_This is some kinky shit, doc_.

He felt the scrape of a safety razor against his skin, first around one nipple, then the other. She wiped the excess shaving cream off with a towel.

"Much better," she said. He could practically hear her admiring her work. "Now: betadine or rubbing alcohol?"

His stomach turned involuntarily.

"No preference?" she continued when she got no response. He was beginning to hate that mocking tone. "I'll use the alcohol. Lets me see what I'm doing better." The sound of paper tearing. A chemical tang burned his nostrils. She wiped the cold swab over his right nipple.

_Fuck this. _He began to work his hands out of the cuffs, furious.

Zahra became very still."No harm." Her voice was quiet but firm. "Do you believe that? I may hurt you, but I swear I will not harm you."

Guerrero already had one wrist free, but he hesitated.

She stroked his face soothingly. "Trust me. I trust you: now it's your turn to trust me. Can you do that?"She continued to run her hands lightly over his face, then his neck, then his chest, gentling him.

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking what you're going to do." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he grimaced at the show of weakness.

"Cuffs," she insisted gently.

He willed his heartbeat to slow, counting his breaths. Zahra waited.

_What the fuck, dude? Cowboy up_.Guerrero locked his free wrist back into the handcuffs and flexed the chain to demonstrate his bondage. He then sat still as stone, expectant.

"Oh, well done, darling," she praised him, her voice soft and warm. She cupped his neck with her hand and rested her forehead against his. She timed her breaths to his, and they inhaled together, then exhaled together. She remained like that for some time. At last she sat back, and Guerrero heard the clink of metal from the table. "Keep breathing deep," she encouraged. He obeyed, feeling his diaphragm rise and fall. She braced her hands against his chest and placed an object against either side of his right nipple. The object on the inside was a tiny, sharp prick against his sensitive flesh. A needle? The thing on the outside felt circular, like a tube. He dragged in air, embarrassed at the way his breath hitched. He exhaled. The second breath was stronger. And out. He inhaled again, but the carbon dioxide came grunting out his lungs in a low moan, because a sudden intense pain, electrical and hot, seared through his nipple. He curled his back, instinctively trying to draw away from the stimulus.

"Ssh, don't struggle," she murmured urgently. She withdrew the thick needle, and his body relaxed automatically at the removal of the foreign object. "Just let me get the ring in."

Metal dragged against the wound, and he tensed again. His lips drew apart in a rictus, air hissing through his teeth.

_Wait, "ring"? _he wondered feverishly.

"There. That's done," she reassured him. She stroked his belly, gentling him. He gasped helplessly as a sudden flash of unbearable pleasure sparked through his abused nipple. Then pain flared again. Zahra blew softly against the overwhelmed flesh, and he moaned. She laughed softly. "You're feeling it, aren't you? That's your nerves confused. Painful pleasure, pleasurable pain. It won't last more than an hour."

"An hour?" he croaked. "Fuck!"

"The rings will always feel good when stimulated, once they're healed." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I know from experience."

Realization flooded through him. "You're going to do the other one, aren't you?" he asked wearily.

"I warned you that you might not like what I had in store for you." She lowered her face below his chin and brushed soft kisses against his neck. "But you'll thank me later, I promise."

Guerrero popped his wrists apart, rattling the cuffs. The movement made the nerves of his right nipple crackle intolerably. He 'humph'ed at the crazy sensation. He had not actually been trying to break free; he just wanted to remind her that she could only do this with his permission.

"Tell me to stop," she challenged him, understanding his motives completely. Her lips brushed his jawline. "That's all you have to do."

"This is what you want?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed. Her voice was laced with complex desires. It suddenly struck him that she had considered at length what she would do to him when he was in her power, and she had decided to do _this_: not only to give him this hell of intertwined pain and pleasure, but also to _mark_ him, to claim him as hers. The thought made him want to slip the cuffs right then, rip off the blindfold, bend her over the table, and screw her viciously. He could use the cuffs to chain her to the table, face down and ass up. She would welcome him; he just knew it. She would writhe and cry out underneath him, urging him to fuck her harder.

He dug his nails into his palms and gritted his teeth. "Do it," he growled.

Without hesitation Zahra tore open another packet and swabbed his left nipple with alcohol. The fluid cooled as it evaporated, shrinking his sensitive nub. "Breathe," she reminded him. On his second exhale, the lance slipped through his flesh, piercing a hole. She carefully fixed the ring in the track created by the thick needle and threaded the captive bead. Her palms rested against his ribcage.

"Wow," she said huskily, in a voice he almost failed to recognize. Her fingernails scrabbled lightly at his skin. "Those look really hot. I want to play with them now."

He almost would have let her. Almost.

Zahra sighed, and he felt her weight lean back for just a moment. He could hear her actively controlling her breath. "Mmm, ok," she said at last, her voice returning to a normal timbre. "You'll have to soak them twice a day to help them heal. A pinch of sea-salt in a few ounces of warm water. I recommend shot glasses, actually."

The idea of sitting around with shot-glasses cupped over his nipples withered whatever was left of his erection instantly.

"Work the rings from side to side gently after every soaking. You can expect some lymph crusting while it heals."

"Yum," he muttered sarcastically.

Zahra thumbed his left nipple, not very hard, but he groaned at the staggering wave of agonizing pleasure that erupted.

"Ok, _ok_," he relented. "I'll be a good boy."

She gave a throaty laugh that his groin found very interesting. "I like the sound of that. All right, my good boy...are you ready to take a look?"

Guerrero blew air out between loose lips. "Uh, sure." He was not totally sure that he wanted to see this.

Zahra reached behind his head to loosen the knot on his tie, careful not to catch any of his hairs in the fabric. She let the tie drop down around his neck. He squinted and turned his head.

"Sorry about the light," she said. "I wouldn't normally have it so bright, but I needed to be able to see what I was doing."

He blinked at the sight of her lovely face. She smiled, one eyebrow raised, and flicked her eyes down toward his chest. Making an anticipatory grimace, Guerrero looked down.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Rated M for Mandarin. Also for strong sexual language.

oooOOOooo

No one was actually surprised to see Guerrero saunter in late to the meeting, and only Winston felt the need to express disgust. "May we start now?" he asked with theatrical levels of sarcasm.

Chance merely nodded in greeting as he tucked his cell into his pocket. Ames, as usual, was watching Guerrero for his reaction to authority figures. Ilsa, on the phone in her office, frowned at him briefly through the glass partitions and went back to her call.

"Sorry, dude," Guerrero answered in a casual tone that suggested he was anything _but_ sorry. "Bi Ming's in town." He cast a look at Chance as if this simple statement explained volumes, then slid into a seat at the conference table across from Ames.

The blond man's eyes widened. "Aw, Bi Ming? From Nanjing? With the..." His hands sketched a broad motion in front of his chest, until Ames caught his eye. He cleared his throat. "...great contacts?" he concluded lamely. _Biggest tits you ever saw on an Asian chick_, was what Guerrero knew he had meant to say.

"Who's Bi Ming?" Ames demanded, scowling.

Guerrero realized immediately where this was going and regretted saying anything. He restrained a sigh. "She's a friend, dude," he replied, regarding her levelly.

Ames turned her face slightly in an attitude that might have frightened her boyfriend, but merely annoyed Guerrero. "A friend with _benefits_?"

He shifted in his seat and looked around the conference room. "If what you're trying to ask is whether I just came from fucking her, then the answer is 'yes'."

"You're such a dick!" she exclaimed indignantly. Apparently finding no other outlet for her outrage, she stomped on his foot under the table.

"Ow, dude."

Winston looked at Chance. He wiggled a finger first at Guerrero, then at Ames. "Is he...?" he hissed. "Are they...?"

Chance shook his head, running a hand across his throat to cut his partner off.

Ames, who did not seem to have heard Winston's questions, rose in a fury and put her hands on her hips. "What about Zahra?" she clamored.

He glanced at Winston out of the corner of his eye. The big man was glaring at him. "Yeah," Winston echoed pointedly, leaning forward on the table with hands clasped. "What _about _Zahra?"

Guerrero winced, less from the pain in his wronged foot than from his disinterest in having this conversation with this man at this particular moment. "It's not what you're thinking, dude."

"Really?" Winston boomed. "What am I thinking?"

The smaller man raised his eyebrows in annoyance. "Whatever you're thinking, that's what we're _not _doing." He looked at Chance for some help, but the blond was grinning like a kid at a double-feature matinee. Ames was still glowering at him. "Keep it up, sister, and your face'll get stuck that way."

"That was my friend at the NSA," Ilsa announced to the conference room at large, striding though the door like a model on a catwalk. "He says he may have a solution for our little arms-dealer problem." She paused, noting the team's expressions. She assumed the air of a teacher who has just found two boys embroiled in a scuffle. "What's going on?"

Chance shook his head, lips pressed together. "Nothing," he replied casually. "So...friend at the NSA?"

Ames took her seat and kicked Guerrero's bruised foot again.

"This isn't over," Winston grunted.

oooOOOooo

Screwing Bi Ming had been a visceral experience, as always; one which lent the impression that he might not necessarily survive. She rode him furiously and insistently, with a vigor that suggested she hated the requirement of his bodily presence for this activity. Guerrero knew it was nothing personal. Bi Ming was simply a selfish lover. It was one of the things he respected about her. It also meant that she had no problem with him closing his eyes while they fucked. This was instrumental for pretending that she was Zahra.

He had not initiated their encounter with the intent of using Bi Ming as a surrogate. As it had on several previous occasions, sex had been a natural outgrowth of their professional dealings, conducted as they were in a business-class hotel room near the airport. The Navy contact had left, Guerrero had stayed to chat, and one thing led to another.

Thoughts of Zahra had barely entered his mind, until Bi Ming pulled his shirt off.

"Zhe xie xin de," she had commented sassily, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing. _Those are new. _"I didn't think that was your scene."

Guerrero followed her eyes to the rings piercing his nipples. He shrugged. "Things change."

She flashed her eyebrows in tart agreement, then she reached for his left nipple. His hand snaked out to grab her wrist, arresting her movement.

_Those look really hot. I want to play with them now._

"They're not healed yet." His tone suggested that the subject was closed.

Bi Ming grinned wickedly. "Are they painful?" She pushed her hand forward again. Guerrero increased the pressure on her wrist and pinned her other arm behind her back.

_Don't touch things that aren't yours, _he wanted to say. Instead, he rolled over on top of her, already itemizing the ways that she was different from Zahra. He took his glasses off at some point, but the blurry woman's hair was too long, her skin too tan, her breasts too large. So he closed his eyes. Then it was only her smell that was wrong. When she straddled his hips, though, the smell of sex overpowered everything else, and he was able to populate the area around that moist heat massaging his prick with an image of Zahra...

...Zahra ordering him to keep his hands to himself and let her ride him as she wished, to take her pleasure from him with no concern for his desires...

...Zahra, naked as Eve, dark eyes gazing down at him devilishly as she stroked and tweaked his nipples, claiming the rights he had allowed to her...

Bi Ming did not protest when he began to moan, "fuck, oh fuck," over and over again. He knew she thought it was ecstasy, but it was not: it was rage, no different from the rage that compelled her to jackhammer herself against him now. He groaned and panted, in a frenzy as Bi Ming brought him to climax.

Zahra was in his head, and he could not get her the fuck out.

When Bi Ming had dragged all the fulfillment she could from his body, she flopped over next to him on the crisp hotel linens. "Bu zuo," she concluded. _Not bad._

Guerrero rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Fei chang bu zuo_," _he sighed. _Not bad at all._


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I rate this T+ for strong language. Which is nothing compared to the strong language I used when I found out that this week's eps (one of which is GUERRERO-THEMED) were postponed to Friday. (That said, I thought the service for Congresswoman Giffords was very nice.) Anyway: plot.

oooOOOooo

"There's, uh, there's something else," Winston's voice said over the speakerphone.

Chance winced and looked at Guerrero over the table of Ilsa's jet. The shorter man shrugged, chewing. "Oh, don't tell me. Noyce knows we're coming," Chance guessed.

"No-"

"Guerrero's on the Ten Most Wanted List."

"No-"

"The agent's partner is a guy we know. No, wait, his boss."

"Would you just let me get a damn sentence out?" Winston barked.

Guerrero smirked at Chance around his sandwich. Pear and cheese. The variety of comestibles on the Pucci jet was skimpy, but the quality was excellent.

"It's got nothing to do with this job," Winston insisteded. "But I wanted to tell you that I just got a call from a friend over at SFPD who knows I've done some security work for Zahra Birdsall."

"Wha-?" An errant crumb slipped into Guerrero's windpipe, and he gasped for breath. Chance pounded him worriedly on the back. "Is the doc okay?" the blond asked on his friend's behalf.

"She's fine, physically, but my buddy says that Homicide has detained her for questioning."

"Homicide?" Chance gave Guerrero a quizzical look. The smaller man slugged back some spring water to clear his throat. "What are they detaining her for, doing abortions?"

Winston sighed. "No," he growled. "Apparently a _body_ washed up from the Bay with her _name carved _on his chest." His voice lent emphasis to the words he found most outrageous about the situation.

"Why would Zahra carve her own name into a dead man?" Chance challenged. "The cops should know that doesn't make sense. It's gotta be somebody else."

"Try the psychopath sitting next to you," Winston suggested.

Chance raised his eyebrows at Guerrero, who shrugged, eyes still watering. "That guy tried to kill her, dude. Fired two shots at her while she was jogging," he managed to croak. He took another sip of spring water and found his breath. "And, strictly speaking, he wasn't dead at the time of the carving..."

"Hear that?" Winston demanded triumphantly of Chance. "Ilsa's gonna have kittens when she finds out what your B.F.F. there did."

"Hey, there's been no admission of guilt here," Guerrero objected.

"Wait, wait, wait," Chance interrupted them, musing. "There's got to be more than one 'Zahra' in the Bay area. How do they know it has to do with the doc?"

Guerrero shook his head. "This guy Millner, the cops would've found out about all his his pro-life activities the second they looked into his background. It was only a matter of time before someone made the connection to-" He broke off. He had been about to say _to my Zahra._

"But they're not going to find anything that connects Zahra to the actual homicide, right?" Winston encouraged angrily. "Or anyone that she knows? Anyone in this office, for instance?"

"Oh, hell no." Guerrero shifted under Chance's gaze. "No way. She doesn't even know."

"You sure about that? Because she is not a stupid woman, and they've had her in an _interrogation room. _ For _four hours," _Winston clarified.

Guerrero grimaced; his stomach felt strange. "She can handle a little heat, dude. She's from Beirut, for Chrissakes."

"You better hope she can handle some heat. 'Dude'."

oooOOOooo

"Chance? We're good: I'm inside his machine." Guerrero roamed through the clone of the FBI agent's desktop now showing on his laptop screen.

"Can you see the database?"

He scrolled through the list of programs on the CPU, then clicked on the case files database. "It's here. But access is password-protected. I'm gonna start running some lockpickers on this bad boy, but it could take a while."

"Uh, how long's 'a while'?" Chance probed. Guerrero could just see him looking around in nervous annoyance. "The J. Edgar Hoover Building is not my idea of a chill hangout."

"Doing what I can, dude." One line jumped out at him, and he stopped scrolling. "Unless..."

"'Unless' what?"

"Ok, you may be able to hurry this up. Noyce has a program installed for e-authorization. Lets him log in one time, and then he's automatically logged in to every other registered item. And...yep, the database we want is registered."

"So I just need to get him to log in to that master program, and you can see the database? What's something else I could convince him to log in for?"

"There's a program called APHIS..."

"What, the fingerprint recognition?"

"No," Guerrero chuckled. "This one's from the USDA. 'Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service'."

"Department of Agriculture? Why would he even have access to that?"

"Uh, weaponized avian flu? I dunno. Your play, dude."

Chance sighed. "Ok, I'm going in."

A few minutes later, Guerrero heard Chance turning it on: "Agent Noyce? I'm Alex Solando from the USDA. How are you doing today?" He sat back and stared at the screen, tuning out Chance's con and waiting for Noyce to enter his log-in and password. He glanced at the clock on his laptop. 3:18. It would be just past noon on the West Coast. He wondered if Zahra was still in police custody.

Why the hell had they kept her so long? She should have been able to tell them everything she knew and exonerate herself in thirty minutes. Did those idiots actually consider her a suspect? The Glock was the only 9mm she had, and the ballistics would not match. Shit...unless they were searching her apartment for another 9mm. Zahra would go apeshit if they tossed her place.

She was going to be so pissed at him. He should just have made that guy disappear. Why had he put the body out there to be found? So the pigs could close their attempted murder case?

Or so Zahra would know what he had done?

He could just see her now, giving him The Look. _You couldn't just have gone with a dozen roses_, she would ask sarcastically. Assuming she ever talked to him again. _Fucking hell. _He chewed a thumbnail contemplatively.

Movement on the computer screen attracted his attention. _Shit!_ Noyce had not only logged into the e-authorization program, he was well into APHIS.

"And then I called my guy to ask, 'Where the hell are you?'" Chance was saying. Guerrero winced, knowing the comment embedded in "Alex Solando"'s anecdote was actually directed at him.

He worked fast in the background, sneaking into the database and pulling the files that Ilsa's NSA contact had tipped them off to. As soon as the information was safely transferred, he whipped his cell out of his pocket and speed-dialed Chance. "Got 'em, dude."

"Right now? Seriously?" Chance demanded on his end of the line, putting on a show for Noyce. "I'm talking to a special agent for the FBI."

"Get on out here so we can blow this popsicle stand." _I need to get back to San Fran._

Guerrero hung up with Chance, then entered Zahra's mobile number into his phone. His thumb hovered over the 'call' button. He took several deep breaths. What if the five-oh had gotten a warrant to tap her?He scratched the side of his mustache. Through the windshield he could see Chance smiling and waving at the guards on his way out of the Hoover Building. He hit 'end'. Folding up his laptop, he chucked both it and his cell into the back seat of the rental car. Chance strode up the sidewalk, eyes alert, and settled heavily into the passenger seat. He sighed, then turned to stare at his partner.

"What?" Guerrero demanded as he shifted the car into 'drive' and headed up E Street. His hackles were already up.

"Where the hell _were_ you?"

"Right here, dude. I was right here."

"Yeah, physically, maybe," the blond responded snidely.

Blue eyes met blue. "You got something to say, just say it."

Chance leaned back in the seat and drummed one hand nervously on his knee. "It's the doc, man. Every time she pops into the crosshairs you start to lose your shit."

"I'm not losing my shit," Guerrero retorted calmly, zigging around a double-parked truck only to run up against a red light. He signaled for a left turn, then spotted the street sign. "Why is every fucking street in D.C. one-way?" he muttered.

"You're not, huh? So you wanna tell me how come Ames thinks it's the doc's business who you're screwing?"

Guerrero gripped the steering wheel and shot up to the next cross street as soon as the light turned green. "Ames still wants to see me as the hooker with a heart of gold, dude." He shot a glance at the blond man out of the corner of his eye. "But she knows how it is with Zahra and me."

Chance gestured at his partner's face. "'With Zahra and me?' Bro, I know goo-goo eyes when I see them. And those right there? Those are goo-goo eyes." He made a chopping motion to interrupt whatever Guerrero was about to say, nodding. "I know. I know. 'We all have our blind spots'."

The smaller man turned to glare at him.. "Do you have any more vision metaphors, dude? Because, let me tell ya, I'm really eager to hear them." He took a right on Constitution, and the Washington Monument popped into view.

Chance rolled his eyes. "You've called me on Maria relentlessly. _Relentlessly_, man. I'm just returning the favor."

oooOOOooo

Chance's phone rang the second they stepped onto the jet. He fished it out of his pocket and checked the I.D. "It's Winston." He turned the cell to speakerphone. "Come in, Base, this is the Lonelyhearts Club."

Guerrero grunted and went to fix himself a drink from the bar.

"I wanted to let you know..." Winston cleared his throat. "Ames just picked up Zahra and brought her back here. She, uh, didn't tell the detectives anything. Once she found out what it was all about, she turned over her Glock for ballistics and just stared at them for six hours."

"Oh my god," Chance muttered, meeting Guerrero's eye. "She's perfect for you."

Guerrero sloshed bourbon into a glass. Chance gestured to him and pointed from the bottle to himself. Glaring at him, Guerrero knocked back the drink he had poured and took seat next to his companion empty-handed. Chance squinted at him over the cell phone.

"I th-" Winston began. "Hang on."

They heard women's voices coming from the San Francisco end. Ames' voice was the clearest, but Guerrero thought he could hear Zahra. "If that's Zahra, dude, put her on," he demanded. "I want to talk to her."

Winston sighed in his most put-upon manner. "Doc, it's Guerrero." His voice lent the name an unusually disgusted turn. "He wants to talk to you."

"Is that so?" Zahra's voice answered, several feet away from the phone. However, both her words and her tone were perfectly audible. "Well, I don't want to talk to him."

Chance winced on Guerrero's behalf.

"She's...not really available to come to the phone right now." They could practically hear the shit-eating grin on Winston's face.

"Just tell him not to get shot so I can kick his fucking ass when he gets home," Zahra continued. They could hear Ames whooping with laughter.

"Uh," Winston relayed, "she says-"

"Jesus, yeah, we heard her!"

Chance settled back into his seat and put his hands on the armrests, sighing. "I think she really likes you, bro."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: What to say about this week's episodes? We learned that Guerrero has tattoos, a little boy, and negative game with chicks. Although I was pretty proud of myself for creating Zahra, a character who looks (in my head) a hell of a lot like Ilsa's sister-in-law that Guerrero thought was so hot.

Anyone catch the tattoo on his shoulder blade during the (grin) prison pull-ups scene? Butterfly?

This chap rated M for language and sexuality.

oooOOOooo

Winston glanced at Chance and Guerrero over his glasses as they stepped out of the elevator, then returned to his typing. Ames was slouched at the conference table, her knees draped over the arms of the chair so that her feet rested on the seat of the next chair over. She tore the earbuds out of her head when she saw the newcomers and eyed Guerrero eagerly.

"Ilsa asked for your report by tomorrow," the big man informed them as he hunted and pecked on the keyboard of his laptop. "She's got a call scheduled with her N.S.A. contact at 11 a.m., and she wants to fill him in on what you two found in those files."

Chance glanced at his watch. "It's after midnight now," he complained, rubbing his eyes. "I'll give her a verbal report in the morning before her call."

Winston raised his eyebrows doubtfully as if to say, _Suit yourself..._

Guerrero walked over to Ames and pulled out the chair on which her feet were resting. Her high-heeled boots fell to the floor with an ungainly clump. "What are you still doing here?" he asked, resting one hip on the table. He had a distinct idea what her response would be.

"Waiting for you," she replied archly, smacking her gum. "I wanted to see what Zahra had to tell you."

Grimacing unconsciously, he looked around for the doctor. His stomach contracted with unwonted anxiety.

"She's not here," Ames clarified pertly.

"But she left _that_ for you." Over his reading glasses, Winston indicated with his eyes a white mailing envelope with a cursive letter 'G' penned on the front.

Guerrero sauntered over and snagged the envelope as casually as he could. He flipped it over to examine its exterior. It did not appear to have been tampered with in any way. When he looked up, Ames was staring at him expectantly.

"Aren't ya gonna read it?" she demanded.

"Yeah," he answered as he left the conference room. He could hear Ames spluttering behind him. Just before he stepped into the elevator, she called, "I told her about Bing Bing, jackass!"

Guerrero held the elevator door, scowling. "What's Bing Bing? A fucking panda?" Realization dawned, and to his surprise, his heart sank a little. "You mean 'Bi Ming', you mental giant!" he hollered. He let the doors shut and backed up to lean against the rear wall of the elevator. He took a deep breath, then tore open the envelope and devoured its contents with his eyes. It was a brief note written in Zahra's looping, neat script:

_Yr presence cordially requested tom. eve. at Davies Symphony Hall. Concert starts 7:30._ _Wear a goddamn tie. -ZB_

He stared at his wavy reflection in the metal doors. "Any particular color?" he asked the empty elevator.

oooOOOooo

He took the time to watch and study her before he approached the padded bench on which she was seated, reading and sipping occasionally from the stirrer of a mixed drink in a clear plastic cup. Her black-stockinged legs were crossed at the knee, and one strappy high heel was just about to slip from her dangling foot. A forest-green brocade dress clung tightly to her figure. It had a high mandarin collar that seemed very modest, but it was sleeveless; her arms seemed almost shockingly bare. Her hair was pinned up in some kind of bun that allowed a dark horse's tail to spill down toward her back. He could not make out what book she was reading.

She must have felt herself being observed, because she looked up suddenly and scanned the crowd milling in the lobby of the concert hall. Guerrero stepped forward, pointedly adjusting the knot of his tie. Her lips twitched slightly. Her brown eyes traveled up and down his body slowly. He got the distinct impression that she liked what she was seeing: black suit, black shirt, and a blue tie that echoed the color of his eyes. He flashed the lapels of his jacket open as he got close to her. "Do I pass muster?"

"Perfectly acceptable," Zahra decreed, although she was still running her gaze over him in what he hoped was an ogling.

He took a seat on the bench near her, not too close, and waited for her to start. She took a calm sip of her drink, then marked her place in the novel and tucked it into her evening bag. He noted the title just before it disappeared into her clutch: Shame. He snorted. "That directed at me?"

Frowning, Zahra followed his gaze. The corners of her lips curved up, and she chuckled. "No. I just like Rushdie."

"You look amazing," he said softly.

She tilted her head at the _non sequitur _and leaned one elbow on the railing behind her. "I guess police custody agrees with me." Her tone held a slight challenge. Her eyes were cool and unreadable.

Guerrero stared back at her, accepting the challenge. Christ, at least she was talking to him. "You pick this place so you wouldn't make a scene?" he asked, gesturing at the genteel concert-goers milling about.

"Oh, I'd be quite content to make a scene," she answered. "I'm not above throwing this drink in your face."

He settled himself more comfortably on the bench, put at ease by the repartee. "There's a likely-looking alley out back, if you want to step outside." He cocked a thumb, eyebrows raised.

"Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I should warn you that I am not a slapper. I do not slap," she clarified precisely. Guerrero fought back a grin of amusement. "So don't think you'd get off easy."

"Self defense classes at the Y?" he taunted.

"Three years of krav maga," she said around the stirrer of her drink.

The grin erupted, and in spades. "Dude, I didn't think you could get any sexier. I am totally about to get down on one knee, right here. Seriously." He flashed his eyes enthusiastically.

"You just want to be able to assert spousal privilege," she retorted, looking down and tugging on the hem of her dress in a gesture that was almost shy.

He lowered his eyebrows, impressed. "You have a beautiful criminal mind, doc." He thought he saw a flush creeping up her face. It was a very satisfying feeling to have made her blush.

_This chick is gonna get me killed_, he thought. _For real._

The lights in the lobby flashed. He rose and offered her his elbow. "Better go in." Zahra rose, grabbing her purse, and leaned to throw her cup into a trashcan near the end of the bench. She hesitated for a moment, then took his elbow, clinging to his side. She stared into his eyes, but he was unsure what she was trying to express. She blinked suddenly and looked down, a little disoriented, as if she had just woken from a dream. Her fingers slipped into her handbag and emerged with two tickets. They moved toward the dwindling crowd pressing into the concert hall.

"I don't even know what's on for tonight," he admitted as they took their seats. He looked from the orchestra members filing into their rows to the program in his hand.

"It's a collection of some of the more popular favorites," Zahra answered, a little ruefully. "Beethoven's Seventh, some Mahler, Mussorgsky, I think some Dvorak...but they're doing the Elgar cello concerto, which I adore."

Guerrero pursed his lips. "His meditation on mortality, huh? Right on. Appropriate, I guess."

Zahra was staring at him.

"What? I'm not a _complete_ philistine."

oooOOOooo

They played the Elgar concerto just before the intermission. Zahra caught her breath as the cello swung down into the throbbing low notes of the first movement's recitative and grabbed for his hand. She closed her eyes, pulsing almost imperceptibly with the rhythm. He leaned his head over to kiss her bare shoulder and saw that her eyes were shining with unshed tears. The woodwinds entered, lending their own reedy strength to the _ostinato_. He sat back and released himself into the passionate ebb and flow of the melody. When the cello swirled up into full crescendo to be joined by the entire crashing orchestra, her fingers tensed, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, trying to tell her a thousand things with that one physical expression of understanding. Her tears began to flow freely.

Zahra tilted her head back when the house lights finally came up, batting her eyelashes and wiping the moisture carefully from her cheeks so as not to smudge her make-up. He waited, sensing that she had something to say. After she had composed herself, she leaned over and spoke very quietly into his ear. "There's only one thing I want to know.

Guerrero held his breath.

"Why was simple intimidation not an option?"

He knew she was talking about Millner. He put his arm around her shoulders, and his lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "Intimidation requires the target to be able to reason logically. This guy was a fanatic. He couldn't be trusted to think or act rationally. I couldn't take the chance that he would ignore a warning and come after you a second time. Maybe successfully."

Zahra stared down at her hands folded in her lap. "I should hate you."

Guerrero brushed his lips against her temple, pulling her tighter. Idly, he stroked the bare skin of her upper arm.

"But there must be something wrong with me," she murmured miserably, "because I don't."

He wanted to tell her that this was all on him, that she bore none of the guilt for Millner's death. But he knew that she would never accept that, so he just held her in silence, breathing in her scent.

oooOOOooo

She let him snake his arm around her slim waist as he walked her to the parking garage. A light mist of rain was falling. He held her tightly to prevent her slipping on the damp sidewalk in her high heels. She snuggled against him and shivered. "Want my jacket?" Guerrero offered.

Zahra pursed her lips. "Not packing tonight?" she asked, eyes flicking toward his lower back.

"Ankle holster," he assured her.

"A true gentleman. But, no, thank you." Her heels clicked on the cement and echoed around the parking garage. He kept an eye on their perimeter. "Something wrong?" she asked, noticing his alertness.

He shook his head. "Just ordinary precautions. I'm not letting anything happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Exactly," he agreed.

She smiled, detaching herself from his grip, only to grab his hand and pull him down the aisle after her in the direction of her Jeep. "My hero."

"You bet your sweet ass," he drawled, gazing at the body part in question as he trailed after her. Her backside twitched particularly pleasingly in the tight, dark green dress.

Zahra let go of his hand to fish around in her clutch-purse. "So where's the El Dorado?" she asked, pulling out her keys. She looked around expectantly.

Guerrero made a face, as if she had said something ridiculous. "I don't pay to park," he scoffed.

She laughed, unlocking her driver's side door. "Does that mean you're, like, eight miles down Van Ness?" Without waiting for a response, she popped the release to unlock the passenger side, then gave him a gentle shove. "Get in. I'll give you a lift."

Zahra found an open space behind the designated permit-only zone in which he had parked the Cadillac. She squinted at his windshield through the rain-splashed, tinted glass of her Jeep. "Do you have a ticket?" she teased. She looked at his face to see how her joke had gone over, but he was staring at her in the dim light from the streetlight on the corner.

"_Anti jamilah_," he murmured after a moment.

She smiled, almost sadly. "No, I am not beautiful," she insisted. He opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off. "But..._wa anta ajmal."_

He pursed his lips and winced in embarrassment.

"Have we plumbed the depths of your Arabic repertoire?" Zahra guessed, smirking.

"Chance _may_ have taught me that one line on a flight to Khartoum," he admitted. "He used to know this Sudanese girl, who...well, it was a long time ago. So what does _wa..." _He paused in confusion.

"_Wa anta ajmal_," she prompted.

Guerrero repeated it carefully. Languages were not his strong suit. "So what does it mean?"

She lowered her eyes shyly. He reached up to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "It's the traditional lover's response," she said quietly, flushing, "for when a man tells a woman that she is beautiful. It means 'and you are even more beautiful'." Still avoiding his eyes, she bit her lip, then leaned toward him, reaching for his chest. "Speaking of which, let me see how we're doing here." He knew she was only trying to distract him, but his nipples still tightened expectantly around the steel rings. He watched with amused interest as she flicked his tie over his shoulder and began to unbutton his shirt. She tugged his undershirt out of his waistband and slipped her hands underneath, lifting the white cotton carefully. Her hands were cool against his flesh. "You've been soaking them, right?" He leaned back slightly from the hips to allow her a view of his nipples. She fingered the rings ever so gently. Electricity shot immediately down to his groin. "I'm a little surprised you didn't take them out, to be honest."

He shook his head, not trusting his voice. Her fingers fell still, growing warm from his skin.

"They seem to be healing well," she commented. "She didn't suck on them, did she?"

"Who?" Guerrero asked in sudden confusion. He saw the look on Zahra's face. "Christ, Ames really did tell you. I figured she was just sweating me."

"Oh, yes. She was quite outraged on my behalf."

He wrinkled his nose and turned his head to regard her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you? Outraged?"

She was still staring at his chest, her eyes in shadow. "It's none of my business who you fuck." Her lips put a peculiar lilt on the final verb. "But sucking on the piercings would interrupt the healing process."

He leaned forward and, cupping the back of her neck with his hand, spoke distinctly into her ear: "They weren't hers to touch."

Zahra closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When her lids fluttered open, she met his eyes and licked her lips. Then her fingers set to work again, stroking his nipples more firmly now, in a far less clinical manner. Liquid waves of desire rolled down his torso and pooled in a growing erection. He could not restrain a quiet "fuck!" of amazement. She watched his face intently, her breath slightly labored. "Is this what it feels like to you? To chicks?" She produced a tiny smile that only swelled his hard-on. He bit his lower lip, stifling a moan of pleasure as she continued to rub him. The stimulation almost overwhelmed his nerve endings. "Now you're going to say, 'I told you so'," he guessed in a trembling voice.

In answer she leaned forward and set her tongue flicking against his right nipple. He groaned shamelessly. Gathering all his strength, he wrapped his hand in her ponytail and tugged her mouth away from his chest. She stared up at him, unafraid. "You are bad news for me, darlin'. You know, Chance almost got into some major trouble yesterday because I was thinking about you instead of paying attention to what I was doing."

Her brown eyes glowed mischievously, and she dug her nails slightly into the flesh of his chest. "So I probably shouldn't tell you what I was thinking about to entertain myself while the cops were interrogating me?"

Guerrero jerked hard on her hair, dragging her head back toward the nape of her neck. Her lips parted, and her pupils dilated even as he watched. It was like a drug to her, this thing. "You told me a secret once. That you don't like to kiss."

Zahra nodded, eyes fixed on him like a snake's on a mongoose. He clenched his fist a little tighter to pull her hair some more. Her breath caught, and her eyelids fluttered. It was starting to feel like a drug to him, making her react this way.

"I'm going to kiss you. And you're going to kiss me back. Got it?"

She nodded dreamily.

Guerrero brushed his lips against hers experimentally. She neither pushed him away nor jerked back. Heartened, he took her full lower lip between his teeth and mouthed it gently. She let her eyes fall closed. He kissed her then more firmly, but chastely, close-mouthed. She leaned more of her weight against him. Daring to go further, he parted her lips with his tongue. To his surprise, Zahra sighed and twined her arms around his neck. She let her jaw fall open, accepting him willingly. She definitely was not acting like a woman who hated this. After a moment she even pushed her tongue into his mouth, controlling the kiss. He moaned deep in his throat with happy encouragement. She pushed her fingers into his hair.

He broke off and looked at her. Her eyes were wide, her lips already swollen. She was breathing heavily. He dragged her across the center console and pulled her into his lap. She came willingly, balancing herself in the passenger seat with one knee on either side of his hips. Grinning, he pulled the release to allow his seat back to recline. Then his hands slid up the back of her thighs to hike her dress up and allow her legs to part more easily. Settling her weight on him, she pushed her tongue between his parted lips and licked the ridge of his top teeth. He found the act oddly intimate and endearing. At last she claimed his mouth with her own, but he thrust his tongue into her, demanding total surrender, and her gasp sent a thrill coursing along his spine. Her fingers tangled themselves languorously into his hair. Her body was warm and soft and curvy against his angles. The kiss seemed to last for hours, and he buzzed with sensual pleasure. But soon he became all too aware of the way in which her hips were rolling against him, thighs tensing. His erection pressed demandingly against the zipper of his dress pants. Her little noises of pleasure sent his imagination spiraling.

Guerrero broke from the kiss and rested his face in the crook of her shoulder, fighting to get his breath under control. She was panting in his ear. He fumbled for the zipper at the back of her neck and tugged it down. She shimmied to help him drag the dress all the way down to her waist. He kissed her throat, then walked his lips down her throat and toward her shoulder, shoving the strap of her bra out of the way with his nose. Zahra arched her back to thrust her breasts toward him. Obediently, he tugged one bra cup down to expose her soft mound and closed his mouth around the taut brown nipple. She shuddered with pleasure as his tongue laved the sensitive pebble. Soft cries escaped her throat. Her pelvis rocked against him.

"Sean," she sighed happily.

He hummed encouragement and began to tug her dress up. She moved her hips eagerly to help him.

_Sean_.

He froze. In a second he had her arms pinned behind her back, and she gave a sob of pain as he cranked threateningly on one wrist. His eyes were blue flames. "What did you call me?" he barked.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Hope you guys kinda liked that cliffhanger, which I now intend to resolve in the assumption that, since we just got a buttload of Guerrero details last week, we won't receive any more in the near future (especially any that would contradict the backstory I'm writing here).

oooOOOooo

Zahra relaxed in his grip, not struggling against the joint lock. "I called you 'Sean'." Her eyes were cool and even. Her lips were swollen with kissing.

"Where the fuck did you hear that name?" he demanded. He tugged on her thumb, cranking her wrist painfully.

"First let me go," she hissed.

"No," he countered. "First you tell me what I want to know."

She stared at him, eyes wide with pain, nostrils flaring with her rapid breaths.

"This can get a lot worse, Zahra," he warned. She watched him silently. She was not going to yield. "Goddammit." He compressed her right hand, putting pressure on every joint from her fingers to her shoulder. "Tap or snap, doc." She arched backward reflexively in an effort to relieve the strain on her arm. Her half-bared breasts heaved, the streetlight gleaming on one exposed nipple ring. Her head fell back, and she allowed a bellowing grunt of pain to escape through her gritted teeth as she stared at the interior of her Jeep's roof.

"Oh, Christ!" With a sudden effort he released her and pulled his hands back. Zahra sat backward into the driver's seat, one knee knocking against the steering wheel. She wriggled back into her bra and dress as best she could without the aid of her fingers. "Stubborn as a fucking mule!" He slammed his elbow with intent into the car frame next to him and relished the bolt of pain that possesses him momentarily. "I could have broken your goddamn wrist," he explained needlessly.

Zahra eyed him warily as she massaged her right hand with her left. She struggled to catch her breath. "Angie," she said at last, voice hoarse. "Angie told me."

"Whaddya mean, _Angie_ told you?" he demanded, brows knit, staring at her in open-mouthed confusion.

Zahra reached behind her neck to zip up her dress. "She came into the clinic a few weeks ago. Not long after you came to me about Millner, actually." She tugged down the skirt of her dress from its position around her waist.

Guerrero let his head fall back against the headrest. "She came to the..." He trailed off, wiping a hand over his mustache. "She told me she lost that baby. She was devastated." A sudden thought occurred to him. He rolled his head to the side to face her. "Did you...?"

"No," she insisted quickly. "David Chou did the d-and-c. My colleague. But I saw her for a pre-procedural consult. Many woman with a fetal abnormality of that kind spontaneously miscarry in the first trimester, but Angie was in her eleventh week. Her o.b. recommended she come to us."

"What abnormality?" he asked, turning his body toward her and resting his weight on his left shoulder.

Zahra took a deep breath and met his eyes. "The fetus had a chromosome 13 trisomy."

Guerrero shook his head impatiently.

"There was an extra copy of the chromosome," she clarified.

"So it had, what? Down syndrome?"

"No, trisomy of chromosome 13 results in Patau syndrome." Zahra's gaze was soft with compassion. "Children born with Patau's can have defects in the eyes, the spine, the kidneys, the heart. They're microcephalic: their heads are too small; not as extreme as the so-called 'pinheads' they used to put in freak shows, but still significant. Not to mention the relatively minor physical defects, like cleft palate. They're mentally challenged. Life quality and expectancy are poor."

_Christ. Why didn't Angie tell me? _

"It's genetic?"

"Just an abnormality that can happen during early cell division. Most common in women of older child-bearing age."

"Angie's thirty-eight."

"Yeah. Obstetrically speaking," Zahra said, smiling sadly, "that's pretty old. Angie and T-" She froze, breaking off. Her eyes fixed nervously on the steering wheel.

He filled in the blank. "'Angie and Tony', I know."

She glanced up at him. "I...wasn't sure what kind of arrangement you had with her." She was fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress.

Guerrero removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. His voice was uncharacteristically small when he spoke: "She's my son's mother. And I love her very much. But we're not _in love_. Tony's her old man, now."

Zahra cleared her throat. "Well, they'd already more or less made the decision not to carry the fetus to term. And, during the consult, one of the required questions is if the patient has ever carried a child to term. When I asked, she did what a lot of women do when I ask about their older children." Her lips pursed, hesitating.

He sighed, knowing what she was about to say, and replaced his glasses. "She showed you those damn pictures."

Angie always put her favorite photo of their son in one of the celluloid slots in her billfold. Facing it she kept a snapshot from the day he was born. It was the sort of family group that any mother might show off: Angie, exhausted but beaming, holding her newborn child; the father of her son sitting on the hospital bed with them, joyful arms wrapped around mother and infant. Guerrero with family. He had gone ballistic when he first discovered that she was sharing this photo, wracked by a terror for the safety of his loved ones that shattered any fear he had ever felt for his own life. "I told her to take that picture _out," _he groaned.

"She didn't have any idea that I knew you," Zahra continued quietly. "She said, 'This is my baby boy: Sean, just like his daddy'."

He was silent.

"You could have knocked me over with a feather," the doctor admitted ruefully. Her expression changed. "But I didn't let on that I recognized you. I've never said anything to anyone. And I didn't mean to..."

_Sean_, she had gasped in his ear. He wondered if she really had been fantasizing about him while the cops tried to interrogate her. If she had fantasized about him before. If she had dreamed about calling him by that name while they made love.

"And I won't tell anyone," she swore. "Nobody. Not a soul."

He thought about all the times he had heard people say these very words, under other circumstances. Were those situations so different from this one, when he had restrained and coerced her? He could have seriously injured her, done nerve damage that would end her career.

_You let her go, dude. That's the difference._

_Yeah. Sure. Great._

"I'll also take your number out of my phone," Zahra said, her voice cool and sharp and inimitable as a scalpel. "I would appreciate it if you would do the same. I think it's time for our association to be at an end."

Guerrero nodded numbly. His hand went to the door release. "Doc," he said suddenly to the window. "An observation, if I may."

"Of course," she assented regally.

"It's not kissing you have a problem with. It's intimacy."

She was silent. He thought she would not respond. He opened the door, and she spoke as his foot hit the pavement.

"Thanks, Dr. Phil."

Guerrero returned her small smile as he shut the car door and headed for his Cadillac.

oooOOOooo

He called Alejandro as soon as he was settled into the driver's seat of the El Dorado. He drove straight through and was in Redding before the sun rose. Peter Richards had heard about Millner's death, and he was easily persuaded to stay on the path of the righteous and never make trouble for Dr. Birdsall again

By dusk Guerrero was back in 'Frisco. He changed out of his suit and tie and considered himself done with Zahra.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Couldn't resist part two of this chap. Rated T for language.

oooOOOooo

"Isn't he so sweet?" Ames gushed as she returned from the elevator. "Bringing dinner over like that? As soon as I called to say we were working late, Jason said, 'I'm bringing some food over for you, baby'."

"Yeah, he seems like a great guy," Chance said, hoping to cut short her encomium.

Ames beamed, thankfully silent, and dug into the take-out boxes that her boyfriend had brought. She passed some food across the table to Chance. "Sure you don't want some of this chicken pad thai, Guerrero?" she asked with her mouth full. She waved her chopsticks for emphasis. "It's pretty good."

He shook his head, intent on the lines of code in front of him. He toggled briefly to the other window open on his laptop, then back to the code.

Ames shot a devilish grin at Chance, and he knew immediately that she was about to say something stupid. He glared warningly at her, but she forged ahead. "I just introduced him to Zahra the other night. We went out for drinks." She paused to relish the way that Guerrero's fingers had frozen momentarily over the keyboard. His expression had not changed. "I'm thinking now it was a mistake to introduce them, though, 'cause Zahra was totally into him. She was practically drooling."

Guerrero pictured the man who had just stopped by with the Thai food. Tall and muscular, with caramel-colored skin and Asiatic eyes. His buzzcut had verged on the jarhead. He had resembled the love-child of Tiger Woods and Hines Ward. But more athletic.

He could see how a chick might go for that type of guy.

"And she was totally flirting with him!" Ames continued unnecessarily. "Like, touching his hand, and laughing."

Chance stuffed an enormous helping of food into his mouth, doing his best to pretend that he was not hearing any of this.

"It was so weird!" she declared, eyes innocently wide. She stopped eating for a moment, as if pondering this behavioral conundrum. But she could not keep the twinkle out of her eyes when she asked, "Guerrero, did something happen between you and Zahra?"

Humming uncomfortably through his food, Chance grabbed his plate suddenly and rose from the table. He swallowed with an effort. "Carmine!" he called, wandering out of the conference room.

Ames fixed Guerrero with a triumphant smile. He returned her gaze calmly. "I'll tell you what happened," he began, waiting for her to take the bait. "Nothing." He enunciated the word clearly and returned to the code on his laptop.

She sighed, frowning, and stabbed a chive dumpling. "Zahra won't tell me either," she admitted. The dumpling disappeared between her glossy lips.

oooOOOooo

Angie was curled on the couch with a sudoku puzzle when he entered the house. There was a laundry basket full of folded clothes on the floor beside her. "Little guy napping?" he asked as he took a seat next to her.

"Yup," she said, using the eraser end of her pencil to push a tumble of heavy blonde bangs out of her eyes.

Guerrero folded his hands between his knees and sat for a long moment in silence. He nudged the laundry basket with his foot. "Where's Tony?" he asked at last.

Angie turned her head, eyebrows arched disbelievingly. "It's three in the afternoon. He's at _work_."

The shaggy-haired man made a 'hmph'ing noise to indicate how little he thought of that pursuit.

She saw something in his face and shifted over to lean her head on his shoulder. She let the puzzle fall into her lap. "What's wrong?" she probed in a voice that brooked no bullshit.

He touched the tip of his tongue to the back of his upper teeth and sighed, eyes roving around the family room.

"Oh." Angie rolled her emerald-green eyes. "Just call her."

"Can't do that, Ange."

"So she knows about the baby. She knows I call you 'Sean'. Big deal. I'm still not convinced that's even your real name."

"It's my _legal_ name. Seven, there." He pointed at one of the squares in her puzzle.

She looked down at the newsprint and groaned. "I hate you," she muttered, filling in the blank space.

Guerrero propped his boots up on the coffee table. Angie gave him a dirty look, which he ignored. "I hurt her when she called me that," he admitted. "I mean, physically, I grabbed her and hurt her. She'll never forgive me for that."

"Well, it's not like you punched her in the face."

He was silent.

"Christ!" Angie swore, sitting up and staring at him. "You didn't punch her in the face, did you?"

"No," he insisted, scowling. "Of course not."

The blonde settled back against his shoulder. "Ok. Good. So now you just need to give her an opportunity to forgive you. I bet she's waiting for you to give her the chance."

"Mmm," he dissented, shaking his head. "It was sorta my third strike. In twenty-four hours. I think I'm out."

"Daddy?" came the plaintive voice from the doorway. Sean wandered into the room, small arms laden with his blankie and a Thomas the Tank Engine toy. His round belly pooched out between the hem of his little tee and the waistband of his diaper. He was in the middle of potty-training, and they still put him in a pull-up to sleep.

Guerrero leaned forward and levered his son into his lap. "Hey, bud. Have a good nap?" Angie stroked the thick dark curls on the back of the toddler's head as he cuddled into his father's chest, still half-asleep.

The little boy proffered his toy locomotive. "Thomas wants juice."

Guerrero rose, shifting the child onto his hip. "Ok," he agreed as they headed for the kitchen. "Let's get Thomas some juice."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Rated M for language and sexuality. Also, I hate "American Idol". More intensely than usual for the next two weeks...

I do not own Guerrero, Ames, or Chance. I also do not own the music of Rihanna or Shea Seger (I'm hearing the version of "Clutch" from the "May Street Project" album).

Thanks to all for R & R!

oooOOOooo

When he picked up the phone, no one said anything for a long moment. He heard voices and loud music. Then Ames slurred his name drunkenly into the handset.

"What is it, Ames?" he asked wearily.

"You gotta come out with us, man. We're headed over to Glisten to get _crunk_!" A burst of giggles erupted. "We're rollin' in the Popemobile."

"The what now?" he sighed, pushing away from the table on which his laptop sat. He stood up and stretched.

"Zahra's Jeep!" Ames retorted cheerfully. Guerrero's stomach flipped over at the doctor's name. "Y'know, with the reinforced glass and everything. The Popemobile!" Her voice grew momentarily distant. "Z, you need to get a sunroof for this thing with like a bubble on top!"

He frowned. "Ames, who's driving? Is Zahra driving?" He could just picture the Cherokee slamming into an electrical pole and two dark heads cracking against the windshield.

She ignored his questions. "Ok, so here's why I'm really calling. This is, like, a booty-call for Zahra. But we had to use my phone, because she said she erased your number from her phone. What the hell, dude? What's that all about? Anyways, I think she could really use some Guerrero-lovin' right now. She's horny as all get out-"

"Ames, gimme that goddamn thing!" he heard Zahra holler. There came the crackling, thumping noises of a cell being handed clumsily from one person to another. "Sorry about her. She is so trashed right now. I mean, she is _hurt_," Zahra told him with a drawl that indicated how high her own blood-alcohol level was.

"Who's driving, Zahra?"

"Jason," she sighed.

"Ames' Jason? You went out to a club with Ames and her _boyfriend_?" he asked incredulously. A sudden vision filled his mind of Zahra grinding on the meathead's hip in a dance-club, tight skirt riding up her thighs as one caramel-colored hand grasped her buttock. But Ames had just been needling him when she said that Zahra was flirting with Jason, right?

_What's it to ya, dude?_

"Yeah, not usually my scene, but she can be pretty persuasive."

"Oh, nice!" he heard Ames yell in the background. The volume of the music suddenly jumped. "_Come on, rude boy, boy, can you get it up?" _Ames sang loudly, apparently leaning into the phone at Zahra's ear._ "Come here, rude boy, boy, is you big enough? Take it, take it, baby, baby-_"

"Give it a rest, sweetheart," said a man's voice that must have been Jason's.

Ames did not let up. "_Tonight I'mma let you be the captain. Tonight I'mma let you do yo' thing. Tonight I'mma let you be a rider. Giddy up-_"

"Jason's sober, right?" Guerrero asked.

"Yeah, he had one beer, I think," Zahra replied over Ames' singing.

"_I wa-wa-want what you wa-wa-want._ _Give it to me, baby, like boom, boom, boom-"_

"Katie!" Zahra warned.

"Who the hell's Katie?" Guerrero demanded, imagining a third drunken female in the vehicle.

Zahra giggled. "He wants to know who Katie is," she told Ames.

"_I'm _Katie, you ass-hat!" Ames bellowed into the phone.

"That's her first name," Zahra explained, still laughing. "You didn't know that?"

"Christ," he swore. "Call me when you get home." He hung up.

oooOOOooo

"Hey," she murmured softly.

"Hey, yourself," Guerrero greeted her. "You okay?"

"Peachy," she sighed. Her voice was slow and dreamy. "Mm, I had to put your number back into my phone, but I'll take it out later if you want, k?"

"Zahra-"

"Come over," she interrupted him. "Please."

He swallowed. "Can't."

She was silent for a moment, and he could almost picture the hurt on her face. "You still pissed at me?"

"I'm not pissed at you," he responded, pacing around the bed. "Never was. You're the one who wanted to dissolve 'our association', or whatever."

"Oh, I know. I'm really regretting that."

He stopped in the threshold of the bathroom and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. "I, uh, I've missed you," he admitted. _Pussy_, his mental peanut gallery taunted.

"Awwww, I miss you, too." She sighed luxuriantly. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm horny."

"Are you really?" Guerrero reached up with one hand to the top of the doorframe and stretched, smirking. "I figured Ames was kidding."

"Mhm, yeah." She managed to stretch the sounds of her response into seductive moans. "So come on over here: help a girl out."

"I'd really love to, babe. I mean, I'd _really_ love to. But I just can't get there right now."

"You're in the middle of something," she guessed despondently.

"Yeah. And I'm in Montreal."

"Well. Shit." There was a thumping noise on the line, like she was changing hands or taking earrings out. "Wait," she asked suspiciously, "does the something-you're-in-the-middle-of have tits?"

He had to laugh. "No. I'm alone. Chance is next door. It's a pretty swank place on Crescent Street, actually."

"So you're alone in a nice hotel room?"

"Unfortunately."

"Got your laptop?" she asked innocently.

"'Natch." A smile began to stretch across his face. He really hoped she was going where he thought she was going with this.

"Wanna video chat?" Her voice held a mischievous expectancy that sent his heart racing.

_Oh, right on._

"Sure," he agreed casually. He settled into the chair in front of his computer and swiped a hand over his mouth, trying to slow his excited pulse. He briefly considered calling Ilsa's pilot to fly him back to San Fran for a few hours.

"Excellent!" Zahra cried, and hung up.

The chat request appeared on his screen moments later. He accepted and waited for the camera views to generate. Video began to stream before the audio kicked in. He recognized her tight sweater dress from the night she had pierced his nipples. Her dark hair swung loose around her shoulders as she moved. She was dancing, apparently waiting for the chat to load. It was not club dancing, but rather the Middle Eastern movements of her mother's forebears, the sultry hip-swaying seduction of the Levant. The audio began to stream, and he heard the music: a woman with a young but throaty voice singing over an insistent drum-and-bass line.

_So there  
__You got me in your clutch  
__again  
__So there  
__So there  
__I love your touch  
__and the voodoo that you do so well_

He watched her hips rolling and shaking in the patterns that had enthralled men for millenia. He remembered the way her pelvis had felt rocking against him. She drew one hand down her face and along the length of her torso, her curvacious backside wiggling deliciously.

_This living is strange  
__We count our feelings in yesterdays  
__Is that how you keep your clutch, baby?  
__Is that how you keep it, darling'?  
__So let me in your world  
__Let me in your world for a while  
__Let me in your world  
__So I can sing to ya_

She was looking at the screen now, into his eyes, smiling as she moved her body. He cocked his head and ogled her openly. "I could get used to this."

Zahra grinned and leaned toward the screen, reaching out to turn down the music. "How about this?" she asked, pulling her dress off in one swift motion. A lace bra and panty set the color of rich chocolate hugged her curves.

"Oh, doc, you are totally wasted," he murmured regretfully. Would she even be talking to him now, if she were not three sheets to the wind?

He experienced a moment of disorientation as she rotated her laptop until he could see pillows. She must have set it up on her bed. Zahra crouched in front of the computer, essentially presenting her cleavage. She followed his eyes down to her decolletage.

"Show me yours, and I'll show you mine," she said.

Guerrero's eyebrows shot up. "Sure. I can open up the lines for requests. What did you have in mind?"

"I want to see that you haven't taken out your nipple rings." She tilted her chin up boldly. "You haven't, have you?"

"I haven't," he insisted. He had considered it briefly after their last encounter, but it just had not felt right. He was glad now that something had stayed his hand.

"Well, I want visual evidence."

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, really?"

"Here," she offered. "A show of good faith." She sat up and reached behind her back to unsnap her bra, then tossed the lingerie aside. He blew air through loose lips. She shimmied her bare breasts at him encouragingly. "Your turn."

"Yes, ma'am," he said in a mock-submissive tone, then pulled both his button-down and his tee over his head.

Zahra grinned wickedly at his naked chest. "Oh, you are so my bitch," she purred.

"Guess that's why I didn't take 'em out," he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Her eyes ran hungrily over the flexed biceps on his cocked arm. "Wow. You look so good." She bit her lower lip and reached up a hand to stimulate one of her own pierced nipples, tilting her head to gauge his reaction.

"Not as good as you do." Guerrero watched her nipple tighten, the ring perking up. She began to breathe more heavily as her thumb did its work.

Zahra flicked her eyes at his piercings. "Those giving you any trouble?" she asked softly, in a breathy parody of her professional manner.

He made a face. "They're not great for..."

"What?" Her hand fell away from her breast in genuine interest and concern.

"...hand-to-hand combat," he admitted.

Zahra collapsed onto the bed in a giggling pile.

"Oh, yeah, keep laughing," he retorted, smiling despite himself. "You can do the surgery to repair my nipple when one of these suckers gets torn out."

She made a sympathetic face between bouts of laughter. "I can trade those out for some barbells when you get back. They're not as aesthetically pleasing, in my view, but they'll give you the same results." To his surprise and delight, Zahra punctuated her comment by sticking out the tip of her tongue and flicking it at him.

"You-" he began, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Guerrero's eyes flicked toward the entrance, and he put one finger up to shush Zahra. She covered her own lips with a slim index finger, eyes wide. Grabbing his new HK off the table, he crept to the peephole. It was Chance. Relaxing, he cracked the door. "Hey, dude."

"You hungry? I've got a hankering for a hot Nutella crepe. You in?" The blond peeked around the door, took in Guerrero's shirtlessness and the electronic glow of his laptop in the darkened room. "Oh, sorry, man." He pointed at the television. "You know, I was gonna order one later, find the craziest title I could, see if they'd put it on the bill. Really freak Ilsa out." He grinned.

"I'm not watching porn, dude."

"Hellooooo," Zahra's voice trilled from the computer. "Doesn't sound like you've been shot, so I took off my paaaanteeeees..."

Guerrero winced and tilted his head to the side. "Ok, I'm kinda watching porn."

"Is that the doc?" Chance whispered incredulously. His eyebrows drew down, and he put out his fist for bumping. "Bro! Nice!"

The shorter man stared at the proffered knuckles. "Dude."

"Oh, yeah, sorry." The blond turned to go, then grabbed at the doorframe. He waved a hand at Guerrero's chest. "Have you...always...had those?" he asked haltingly, a mystified expression on his face. Guerrero looked down at his nipple rings and then slammed the door in his partner's face.

TBC!


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Rated M, mos' def'! For "Mmmm, lemonade". I don't own Jesse McCartney's music (seriously) or Jamie Foxx' (somewhat less fortunately).

oooOOOooo

Pop music was blasting through the speakers of his laptop from Zahra's end when Guerrero returned from the door.

_Shorty hitting me up  
__Says she wanna re-up  
__Knows I got the best in town  
__Cuz when she gets the shivers  
__She knows that I'll deliver  
__I'm the one who holds her down._

Zahra was dancing again. Completely nude, as advertised. The belly-dancing created a fascinating effect on her naked flesh.

_She's about to break, break, break, break, break  
__And I won't let her wait, wait, wait, wait, wait  
__It's getting' kinda late, late, late, late, late_

"_And she just wanna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake_," she sang along, seeing him return to the screen. Her breasts and backside jiggled enticingly. "Who was that?" she asked, cranking the music down again. She knelt in front of the camera, a little out of breath from her exertions.

"Chance says 'hi'," Guerrero answered wryly, leaning back in the chair.

"Hi, Chance," Zahra purred. She tossed her dark hair back and traced a light circle around her navel with one finger, then cocked her head to examine his upper body. "How long do you think it would take me to trace your ink with my tongue?" she asked slowly, smiling.

He rotated his right shoulder to consider the dragon tattooed on his upper arm. He had never really considered the modification in those terms.

"Just look at you, all tatted up. And with those rings." She stuck the tip of her thumb between her lips, her eyes devouring him.

Guerrero gulped, trying not to do so visibly. "Have you always been into bad boys, Zahra?"

Her laugh was deep and relaxed. "_I...al...ways...fall...for your type, yeah_," she sang softly. She leaned back a little on her heels and walked her knees apart until her bare lips and the glint of her piercing appeared. "What do you think?"

"You're totally gonna do this, aren't you?" he asked, the corner of his mouth pulling up in an awed grin.

"What?" she asked, sliding her hands up and down her thighs. "Masturbate long-distance for a guy who recently committed murder for me?"

The bald amorality of this statement from such a brilliant, sexy woman almost took his breath away. He was aroused in a far deeper way than the physical. _The brain_ is_ the largest erogenous zone, _he thought ruefully. "You're fucked up, doc. Not complaining, just saying."

She flicked her eyes coquettishly to the side. "Do you...not want me to do this?"

"Hey, I just want to know when to push 'record'."

Eyes wide, she laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth. Grinning, he reached forward and pressed a key on his laptop.

"You didn't just..?"

He nodded, eyes wide in assent.

She bit her lower lip. "I guess if a sex tape is safe with anyone, it's you."

Guerrero grinned.

"So I guess maybe..." Then she hesitated, blushing.

"Getting shy now?" he asked. He sat forward and put his chin in his hand. He decided to give her a little push. Gazing obviously and longingly at her sex, he said, "I really wanna go down on you, Zahra. Would you like that?"

"Oh!" she gasped, startled by his sudden lewdness. She ran a hand through her hair, her arching back forcing her nipples out and up. "Yeahhh."

"Then give me a little preview," he encouraged, indicating her sensitive center with his eyes. "Show me what to do with that ring."

"What do you mean, 'what to do with it'? Same thing you would do anyway." Even as she spoke, she let her thighs fall farther open and spread her labia slightly. "Don't you know what to do?" she teased.

"Wider," he urged. "And tilt the camera down." She took a deep breath and obliged him. "There. Good." He considered her slick pink flesh and the steel piercing protruding from her nub. It was no challenge to picture himself licking and suckling her. "Hmm," he mused, half-seriously, "I feel like it might interrupt my rhythm."

"I'm told a shorter stroke is what's called for," she said primly. Her slim middle finger slipped down, the tip tucking itself just under the metal ring. He leaned forward intently to study this positioning. "Right below the ring, here," she explained softly. "That way your finger-"

"-my tongue," he corrected. He was delighted to see her shiver.

"-your tongue is stimulating my clitoris through the hood and also pushing the ring so that it rubs directly against the clitoris."

He had to smile at her almost-clinical presentation. "Well, what are you waiting for, beautiful? Commence to stimulating."

Zahra watched him for a long moment, her chest rising and falling. At last she licked her lips and began to rub herself, just as she had described. She sighed and let her head loll backward.

Guerrero gripped the arms of his chair. _Be cool, dude_. "You look at pussy all day, don't you?"

"I guess you could put it that way," she breathed, sliding her left hand along her thigh as she worked her swollen button.

"You ever eat a chick out?" he asked conversationally.

"Just Deva," she murmured, her head rolling forward so that her eyes could meet his gaze again. He could see the muscles of her legs and belly tensing as she rocked slightly.

"Deva?"

"The couple I told you about? That I play with?" Enunciating her thoughts caused her finger to slow.

"Don't stop," he ordered. She smiled lazily at his authoritative tone and resumed her previous pace. "I remember you mentioning them. Do you like it? Eating her out?"

Zahra's back arched, and she began to rock her hips more generously. "Yeah," she gasped.

"Like it better than sucking dick?" He was genuinely curious. Also, his own erection was throbbing so as to remind him of how her mouth might feel closed around his sensitive flesh.

"No better. Or worse. It's...it's different." A tiny gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. His hard-on jumped in response. She spread her thighs further apart, her finger moving faster. "She just...oh...enjoys it so fucking much!"

"Oh, I bet she does. I'd love to see that: your head between her legs, your ass in the air. Are you thinking about it right now: going down on her?"

Zahra leaned back onto her left hand and shook her head, dark hair swirling around her shoulders. She stared at him fixedly under lowered lashes. "Unh-unh."

"What are you thinking about?"

"How much I miss you. How much I want you. How good you feel."

Guerrero grabbed his left hand and dug the fingernails of his right hand into his left palm. He wished he had spent more time working on biofeedback techniques. "Tell me something you were picturing at the police station," he prompted.

Her laugh was interrupted by little hiccups of pleasure as she left her nub momentarily to plunge two fingers into her passage. "I fantasized about you coming to pick me up, to get me away from those bastards...and you'd be _so sorry_ because it was all your fault, but I'd forgive you. And you wouldn't believe me, that I really forgave you, so we'd get in your car, and...I'd suck you off right there in the parking lot of the fucking police station."

"Oh, doc, and I thought you were such a _nice_ girl," he admonished, a little breathlessly.

She smiled, her own breath coming very short. "Then you'd take me home and, mmm..."

"What? Tell me."

"I...oh..." Her finger was back on her nub.

"You fucking hold it, Zahra. You come when I say."

"Ohhhh..." she whimpered.

"What if I bent you over that kitchen table of yours and tied you down and screwed you nice and slow, until you were begging me for more-"

"Oh! Oh god!"

"-and I'd have you tied down tight - you know I would - so you couldn't move, all you could do would be to lie there and take what I give you, inch by inch-"

"Please!"

"-and when you're begging me like the shameless slut you are, I'd go down on my knees behind that gorgeous ass of yours and stick my tongue right up against that goddamn ring and bring you off so hard it hurts. Got that image in your head?"

"Omigod, yes!" She was shaking with tension, her head thrown back in concentration.

"Alright, then come for me, baby."

He saw her left hand clench on the bedspread and her hips thrust forward, raising up off the bed, unconsciously giving him an even better view of her fingers working her sex furiously. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and then came the wail of ecstasy and release as her body shook. His mouth went dry as he pictured himself ramming into her spasming sex. He groaned helplessly.

When her buttocks touched back down against her heels, she was gasping like a person rescued from drowning. Shivers coursed through her body randomly. Her brown eyes opened to meet his gaze. He winked at her. Unperturbed, she raised her fingers to her lips and snaked out her tongue to lap up her own fluids. Guerrero's brows lowered, his mouth forming a small 'o' of lust.

"I'm gonna get you back for that, if it's the last thing I do," she warned him in a hoarse and sultry voice.

He meant to say, _Oh, really_, but his larynx refused to catch. He cleared his throat.

Zahra tilted her head in the direction of his groin, below the level of the camera. "Come on, baby. Your turn. Show me what we're working with, here," she breathed.

Guerrero put his tongue in his cheek and shook his head shortly.

She tossed her chin back rebelliously. "I don't believe you're even hard," she challenged.

He just laughed. So much blood had flowed south that he felt a little light-headed.

Her full lower lip pooched out in a pout. A whining hum rose in the back of the throat. He could tell that alcohol-fueled exhaustion was overwhelming her. "I want to see you! This is torture!" she exclaimed, flopping gracelessly sideways.

He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, by the way," she slurred, apropos of nothing. Her lids were hanging heavy over her brown eyes. "I choose kneecaps."

Guerrero turned his chin interrogatively.

Zahra grinned. "Ames says you gave her the choice of fingernails or kneecaps. I call kneecaps." She pointed at her legs as if to clarify the point.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded, half-serious. "That's just setting yourself up for major orthopedic surgery. You oughtta know that. But fingernails grow back."

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "No fingernails," she insisted, shivering dramatically. "Ew. I can't...no, ew."

He regarded her over the wireless rims of his glasses. "Is this a Brer Rabbit thing?"

"No, I would honestly just rather you shoot me in the knees."

"Okay," he sighed. "Duly noted."

"When are you coming back to 'Frisco?" she mumbled, claiming a pillow from the head of her bed and curling herself around it.

"Couple days yet," he sighed.

"And you won't show me your cock right now?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope," he replied, grinning. His eyes traveled over her relaxed limbs. "Now get some sleep, nympho."

Zahra blinked at him sleepily. "Call me when you get a chance?"

"Sure."

"Lying bastard." She stuck out her tongue and clicked off the feed.

Guerrero stared at the screen for several long seconds before he re-started the video file from the beginning and hunched over his aching prick, gaze locked on Zahra's sex. This time, he came with her.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Rated T+ for language and some sexuality. Thanks to all for continuing to R & R.

oooOOOooo

Thirty minutes later he was coming out of the shower without his glasses on when his smartphone rang. He answered, assuming that it was Chance. It was not.

"I _totally_ forgot that you guys are out of town. I am so sorry."

"Christ, are you a maudlin drunk?" He snagged a towel and wrapped it around his waist. The notion of being naked while talking to Ames, even via telephone, was far too disturbing.

"I just figured that you could take care of her. That's why I called earlier."

"Yeah. I know why you called," he replied tartly.

"No, I mean, not just _that_. I mean, that, but not _just_ that. Look, we were at the club, and she started dancing with this guy, and then she comes over and tells me he's gonna take her home! And I was like, 'Z, you are _not_ going home with some random dude, even if he is pretty hot', and she was all, 'I'm sick of being on my guard all the time', and I told her, 'No way, someone could kill you, isn't that why you never go out with guys anyway'. And she was totally arguing with me about it. She's, like, the smartest chick I know, and she's arguing about this. So finally I said, 'What if I called Guerrero to come get you', and that at least shut her up. She just stood there for a minute, and then goes 'He wouldn't come', and I thought she was gonna _cry_, you asshole. Then Jase helped me get her out of there, and we called you."

He sat down on the closed toilet seat and ran a hand through his wet hair.

"So did you at least _talk_ to her?" Ames pressed on, in no way dismayed by his silence.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "We talked."

The girl sighed. "I really don't like it when Mommy and Daddy are fighting."

Suddenly he was enraged, so angry that he was shaking. His mouth worked for a moment before he could get his words out. "Look, whatever you think is going on between me and Zahra, it's not. I do jobs for her, and sometimes we hang out, and that's it. Are you picking up what I'm laying down, here?"

"You're so full of shit, your eyes should be brown." She hung up.

OooOOOooo

Guerrero sat Indian-style in the hotel room's armchair, his knees cocked up slightly in a position he had liked to adopt in solitude since he was a child. He had found the book two days earlier, in a used-book store he had ducked into with twenty minutes to kill. In some ways, he considered, the book had found him, tumbling off the shelf next to the George R.R. Martin he was reaching down. He had felt unaccountably uncomfortable handing it to the Quebecoise clerk for purchase. He had removed the slick paper cover from the hardback almost immediately, because the black-and-white photo on the front of a crop laid over a scarf looked to him like the lurid aftermath of a polo club love affair, and the opening lines of the book were printed in a large font on the back cover: "The first time we were in bed together he held my hands pinned down above my head. I liked it..." Without the paper cover, the book was a nondescript, if slim, black volume.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and stared over the top of the book at the hotel's pricey but conservative carpet. He was considering the paragraph he had just read:

"But when he was the one inflicting pain, the difference between pain and pleasure became obscured in a way that turned them into two sides of a single coin: sensations different in quality but equal in result, equally intense, one stimulus as powerfully able as the next to arouse me. Since pain always came as a prelude and only then – sometimes hours earlier but always eventually leading to orgasm – it became as longed for, as sensuous, as integral to lovemaking as having my breasts caressed."

Guerrero checked the clock: it would be a little while yet before Chance heard back from his guy. He hesitated for a moment, drumming on the arm of the chair with his thumb, then picked up his smartphone and dialed Zahra. Her phone rang several times, until he thought it would go to voicemail, but suddenly she picked up and said, "Good morning," a little groggily.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked, thinking that she did not sound particularly regretful of the previous night's encounter.

"No, I'm watching t.v."

"Thought you'd have slept in some more."

"I'll take a nap later. I can't stay asleep for very long after drinking like that." Zahra made a noise that clearly accompanied stretching. "What are you up to? Had a moment between defusing a bomb and base jumping, thought you'd gimme a ring?"

Any apprehensions that Guerrero had held about this conversation being awkward flew away. He pictured her curled up on the couch under a blanket. What was she wearing? PJs? "Told you I'd call. So I'm calling."

"Mhmm," she prodded, in the clear tone of one who is waiting to hear an ulterior motive.

"I was, uh, doing some reading."

"Okayyy..." Guerrero could hear the smile in her voice. "What are you reading?"

"Nine and A Half Weeks."

Her soft laughter sounded surprisingly intimate over the phone. "First time reading it?"

"Think I saw the movie when it came out."

"Oh, Mickey Rourke," she purred in agreement. "Yeah..."

"Do you need a moment?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"Is the book turning you on?" she countered in one of those swift tonal changes that kept him fascinated with her. "Anything in particular that you like?"

He pondered how to answer this. Certain scenes he had found very erotic, yes, but in large part the arousal was mental rather than physical. He was picturing Zahra as the nameless protagonist, reading it as if it were _her_ account of an intense relationship based in BDSM; struggling to understand what went on in her head, as if this book might somehow be the key to her hopes and fears and desires. But he was unsure how to explain this to her.

"Do you...consider yourself a submissive?" he asked instead.

"That's an interesting question." She sounded a little startled. They had never discussed their interactions in these terms. "No, not strictly. I'm a switch: I'm dynamic in different ways with different people, or in different situations."

He tapped the book against one knee. "Which is why you dug controlling me as much as being controlled by me."

"Oh, yes," she murmured in the sort of voice he wanted to hear with her warm breath tickling his ear. "But that's not really what you called to ask me."

"No," he admitted. He paused, wondering how to start. "When Ames...found out about how you got your bruises, you were totally adamant that it wasn't about sex. But..."

"But," she continued for him, "it _was _about sex for you. At least a little bit?"

"Uh, yeah. Duh."

"I wouldn't have asked you to do that for me if I hadn't found you attractive, if I hadn't wanted to feel you touching me, in one way or another."

He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. "So why didn't you let me get you off, afterward? I would have given you any kind of pleasure you wanted, after you took all that pain. Even if I didn't get off myself. Seriously. But you totally shut me down."

"Do you know why I pulled that .22 on you?"

"'Cause you thought I was gonna rape you."

Zahra sighed. "I pulled the gun because...I would have let you do anything you wanted to me."

He swallowed, letting a filmstrip of all the things he wanted to do to her scroll through his brain.

"And I couldn't let that happen."

Guerrero swiped a hand over his mouth as it struck him exactly what she meant. "Because I was punishing you," he said resignedly, "and part of the punishment was abstinence."

She was silent, and, more than anything, he wished he could be there to see her eyes. "So you haven't found anything in that book that strikes your fancy?" she asked at last, her voice, if not falsely cheerful, then at least oddly bright.

"Do you want what she wants? The chick in the book? To be...taken care of, tended to, absolved of all responsibility? No decisions, no morality, no guilt?"

"You don't find that notion enticing?" she asked curiously. He knew that her response was not necessarily assent.

"That stuff doesn't bother me much," Guerrero admitted. "And I don't really get why it bothers you."

"You really don't?"

"Clearly you don't care about what happened to our mutual friend." She would know he meant Millner, but he was not about to give specifics over a cell network, even through his scrambled line.

"Well, he did try to kill me," she insisted, but he could tell she was playing devil's advocate.

"But you're a doctor. You took an oath, right?" Guerrero challenged, unfolding his legs and sitting forward in the armchair.

"So I should turn the other cheek when someone takes shots at me?"

"'Course not. I was just thinking," he continued pensively, "about that day we brought Hayley Simms to you. Zahra, I saw your face." _You were practically in tears_, he added mentally.

"Never done a termination on an eleven-year-old before," she commented brusquely.

"Yeah, but you were helping her, right?"

"Do you know what's involved in a third-trimester termination?"

Guerrero shrugged, although he knew she could not see it. "I can imagine."

"No, I don't think you can. And, for the sake of your son, I'm not going to enlighten you. The pro-lifers call it a 'partial-birth abortion', and I'll leave it at that." Her voice was shaking slightly.

"The procedure's hard on you, emotionally," he concluded softly.

He heard her take a deep breath and then exhale. "You don't feel anything? When the light goes out of their eyes? Nothing?"

"I wanna play with you when it's not about guilt, Zahra."

She was silent for a minute, probably deciding whether she wanted to pursue the line of questioning he had deflected. "Think you'll be back Friday?" she finally asked.

"We should be able to wrap this up in two or three days," Guerrero answered, heart jumping up into his throat.

"I'll call Lewis, see if he and Deva want to have a little party Friday night, give you some structure. Reading Nine and A Half Weeks does not constitute a complete education in domination."

"Am I gonna have to watch him top you?" he grumbled.

"I'd like you to, yes."

"He doesn't fuck you," Guerrero warned.

"Whatever you say, boss."

It took him a moment to realize that her tone had not been teasing; she had said this last in complete seriousness. He grimaced at the sudden rush of blood to his groin. "I could get used to that," he said ruefully.

The call-waiting on his smartphone beeped. He looked down at the screen and cursed under his breath. "Chance is calling. Gotta go to work."

"Just get back here in one piece. Boss." Now she was taunting him. He grinned as she hung up, then he clicked over to Chance.

"Ready in five?"

"Sure, dude."

Five minutes was just enough time to call a friend with a flower shop in Japantown. Michiko recommended a phalaenopsis orchid with a pink heart radiating color out over its delicate white petals.

"Want a card, _anata_?"

"'A gift that's still alive this time'," he dictated. "She'll know who it's from."

Chance was donning a wool cap as Guerrero stepped out into the hallway.

"You talk to your guy?" the shorter man asked, heading for the elevator.

"Yeah," Chance replied. "He's gonna meet us at that cafe around the corner in half an hour."

The elevator opened just when they arrived and disgorged a trio of attractive young women. Chance flashed his five-mile-smile, watching them trip down the hall in heavy coats over skinny jeans. One of them, a redhead, turned back to make sure he was still checking them out. He waggled his fingers at her, following Guerrero into the elevator. The shaggy-haired man pushed the button for the lobby, then pulled a pair of leather gloves out of his coat pocket and donned them. The doors whooshed closed.

"So how was Dr. Feelgood last night?" Chance asked, cutting his eyes at his partner.

Guerrero sighed. He should have known that he would not be able to skate on this. "How was your Nutella crepe?" he retorted.

"Hot and delicious."

The bespectacled man stuck his tongue in his cheek and turned his head, grinning. "Ditto."

oooOOOooo

A/N: Nine and A Half Weeks is written/owned by Elizabeth McNeill. Mickey Rourke has always been, and remains, his own man.

Limes next chap. ;p -ab


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Short but sweet. Well, tart. M! ;p

1/26/11 - Edited and slightly re-written, thanks to the expert beta/review of tree979.

oooOOOooo

"Bro, if you don't stop that, so help me, I will duct tape you to the bulkhead."

Guerrero clenched his hands around the arms of the seat to prevent his fingers from drumming. The repetitive nervous motion transferred itself to his knee, which began to jiggle.

Chance rubbed his forehead and rose to fix himself a drink from the jet's small bar. "Want something?" He proffered for Guerrero's inspection a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. The smaller man considered the whiskey for a long moment, then bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. His knee continued to bounce frenetically.

The blond man returned to his seat with two fingers of Johnnie, watching his friend expectantly as he took a sip. Guerrero stared out the window and ignored him.

"What time are you supposed to meet her?" Chance finally asked over the rim of his glass.

He had not said anything to Chance about seeing Zahra, but there was no point dissimulating now that his friend had guessed. "Picking her up at eight, dude."

The blond checked his watch. "We should be landing about 5:30. You'll have plenty of time."

"Yeah, for Friday night rush hour," Guerrero grumbled. Ilsa would have a towncar waiting for them at the airfield, but then he would have to pick up the ElDo at the office, drive home for a shower, then get out to Zahra's place. He was anticipating some road rage.

If only the damn job had not taken so much longer than expected...Chance had been thinking with the wrong head, allowing that flight attendant to use his phone. _Stranded in Montreal, my ass_.

Not that Guerrero had much room to talk right now where interactions with the opposite sex were concerned.

Chance was looking around the interior of the jet. "There's not a whole lot of room in here, man, but let me walk you through a short qi-gong sequence. I guarantee you'll feel better by 'High Pat on Horse'." He considered for a second. "Well, at least by 'Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg'."

Guerrero was already on his feet and headed for the back of the cabin

"Definitely by 'Needle at the Bottom of the Sea', man. I promise." Bright blue eyes followed the bespectacled man in confusion. "Where're you going?"

"'Spank the Monkey', dude. I usually find that takes the edge off."

Chance raised his eyebrows but said nothing, accustomed to his friend's sarcastic humor and unabashed candor. He settled back into the seat-leather with his drink and switched on the t.v.

oooOOOooo

Zahra was wearing a long tan coat over bare legs and very high heels when she opened the door. Guerrero wondered if it would be as obvious to everyone else as it was to him that she was not wearing much underneath. Her dark hair was plaited into two short braids that dangled like pig-tails, one on each side of her nape. She wore very little make-up, except for a deep red lipstick. His palms itched to grab her and push her back into the apartment.

He had opted for an all-black look: slacks and an open-throated dress shirt under a leather blazer, with motorcycle boots. He had been hoping to express understated power, but on the drive over experienced a sudden niggling worry that he was channeling Yul Brynner from "The Magnificent Seven". All he needed was a black goddamn hat. The look on Zahra's face as her eyes roved over him, however, put this fear completely to rest. She shut the door hurriedly behind her and, grabbing his hand, began leading him down the hall.

"Are we...late?" he asked, bemused.

Zahra punched the button to call the elevator. Her eyes never quite met his. "I just don't, ah, want to get sidetracked." Despite this assertion, she swayed close to him and tucked her nose under his chin, inhaling the mingled scents of leather and his flesh. He slid his arm around her waist in as platonic a manner as he could manage under the circumstances. He took deep breaths, struggling against the desire to lick the shell of her ear. The elevator dinged, its doors opening to reveal an empty interior.

"Fuck," Zahra muttered succinctly, then tugged him inside. They stumbled together into the corner across from the control panel. She slipped her arms around his neck, and he grinned to see her brown pupils dilated. His hand was already slipping between the flaps of her coat as the elevator doors thumped shut. She gasped to feel his fingers force their way under her short skirt and between her smooth thighs, then brush against the crotch of her thong. Her desire had soaked the thin fabric.

"Fuck," he echoed her, tilting his head back to pinpoint the location of the security camera. Pushing Zahra even farther into the corner, he leaned back and punched the 'stop' button on the elevator panel, almost reflexively keeping his face out of view of the camera lens.

"What are you doing?" she breathed. He saw her lips move, more than heard her, as the alarm bell rang once, briefly.

"Getting sidetracked," he admitted, his hand snaking back under her coat. Zahra licked her lips. He slid his thumb into her thong to feel her slick core.

"Stop," she moaned in his ear, but she was already parting her legs to allow him access. He crushed his body against her, cocking her right leg up and trapping it between his hip and the handrail. His forefinger slid inside her; when she gasped, his middle finger followed its neighbor. His thumb swirled lazily around the edge of her nub, brushing against the metal ring. She stopped breathing.

"Why are you so wet?" he asked, allowing a slightly dangerous growl to rumble through his throat.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"'Couldn't stop thinking about you, _boss_'," he corrected.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you, boss," she repeated, without the slightest hint of irony, her fingers twined into his sandy locks. He let the pad of his thumb brush over her sensitive bud. Zahra produced a squeak that would have been comical if it did not arouse him so much.

"You like that? Want me to do more of that?"

"Mhm," she agreed in a tiny, high-pitched moan.

His left hand gripped her thigh harshly. "What do you say?" he demanded.

"Please, boss," Zahra begged, then bit her lip.

Guerrero laughed softly. "Good enough for now, I suppose," he murmured. With a thrill of satisfaction, he tucked his thumb behind her piercing and rubbed her, allowing his fingers to thrust in and out of her. She cried out, clutching desperately at his shoulders. He worked her nub insistently. There would be plenty of time for teasing and drawing out their pleasure, but all he could think about now was forcing her toward the helpless frenzy of orgasm. She tensed against his hand, totally dependent on him, totally within his control.

"Still want me to stop?"

"No!" she wailed desperately, her pelvis rolling in a rhythm old as mankind.

"What do you want, baby? Tell me."

"I want to come," she panted. Her frenzied eyes were pinned by his gaze.

"What?"

"I want to...oh, I'm gonna come! Please don't stop, boss. Don't stop!" Zahra's fingers dug into his shoulders, and her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. Every muscle in her body was tensed. Suddenly she shrieked, her mouth forming a surprised 'o', and she shuddered with ecstatic release. She was still trembling as Guerrero let her go, leaning backward to slam the 'stop' button again and push 'Lobby'. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her juices on it, then turned his head to observe Zahra, who was clinging to the handrails, gasping for breath.

"Still think I need lessons in how to dominate you?" he asked coolly.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I made a few edits to Chapter 20, based on some input from tree979 (cheers!). Primarily, I changed the instances where Zahra refers to Guerrero as "daddy" to "boss". That moniker continues in this chap.

Ch. 21 rated M+ (can I do that?) for sexuality, language, BDSM (including power exchange and pain), and (fem)slash.

Please review if you can: suggestions/concrit always welcome! -ab

oooOOOooo

"So what's this about going home with some dude at the club last week?" Guerrero asked as he shifted into second gear. Streetlights refracted through the windshield, coloring his face like a stained-glass window.

Zahra watched him out of the corner of her eye but said nothing.

"Doc, I can think of at least eight different ways that leaving with a stranger like that would have been a bad idea. Ames was a good friend, getting you out of there." He flicked the blinker on to make a left turn. "And if you ever tell her I said that, I'll come after you with more than my belt."

"This guy was no super-spy-assassin, trust me," the doctor drawled. "He just wanted to get laid."

"And so did you."

"Mhm," she agreed, a lazy smile curving her lips. She shifted her legs gingerly, still tender from his ministrations in the elevator.

Guerrero ran his tongue around his teeth. "Vibrator out of batteries?" he quipped.

She narrowed her eyes at him, pursing her mouth. "He was really cute. His name was...Jeff. Or something."

"Could Jeff-or-Something have gotten you off like I just did?" The question was not entirely rhetorical.

Zahra laughed and twined her arms backward around her headrest. "Don't get ahead of yourself: you've only given me one orgasm."

"The night is young." He grinned to see her lick her lips unconsciously. She reached out her left hand to rest it on his thigh. When they came to a stoplight, he reached over and pulled her head toward him, cupping her cheek to draw her lips in for a kiss. She moaned eagerly into his mouth and accepted his tongue between her teeth. He broke from the kiss, breathless, and turned back to the wheel. Zahra wiped a smudge of lipstick off of his mouth with her thumb, then curled back into the passenger seat, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Next time just call me," he said. "I'll always answer when you call."

"Even in Montreal?" she teased.

He glanced at her as the light changed and he shifted into gear. "Always."

oooOOOooo

Zahra's friends lived in a three-story townhouse on a recently-gentrified block. The home was in no way extraordinary or different from its cookie-cutter neighbors. There was even a Volvo parked out front.

The man who opened the front door was just short of six-foot, and heavy-set. He had short-cropped dark blond hair and looked like the sort of person who should wear glasses. He had on a three-piece suit in a subtle brown check. The woman who joined him almost immediately in the wood-floored hallway wore thigh-high black boots with a tall heel, so she might have been as petite as Zahra, though she was much fuller-figured. Guerrero guessed that she was Filipina. Her hair was a tumble of black and brown waves cascading to below her shoulder-blades. Her tight black vinyl dress, with its large belt and mock badge, appeared to be a sexy cop costume; her voluptuous cleavage strained over the neckline. Guerrero caught the grin that passed between Zahra and the other woman and realized that the Officer von Tease outfit had been a special request for tonight.

"This is Lewis, and there's Deva," Zahra announced, smiling at him. "And this is-" She broke off and threw him a sudden look of confusion.

"Sean," he introduced himself, shaking the taller man's hand.

"Sean," Zahra repeated softly, her eyes locked on his as Lewis bent to kiss her cheek. Guerrero grabbed her hand surreptitiously and squeezed it.

The woman who called herself Deva scooted her partner out of the way to slip her arms around Zahra's waist and kiss her on the cheek. Then she turned to Guerrero, smiling. He noticed a beauty spot near her left eye. "We were so glad when Zahra called. Welcome."

"Thanks for having us. Officer," he replied drily. Her eyes sparkled with mirth.

Lewis was helping Zahra out of her coat. As Guerrero had expected, there was not much underneath: a _very_ short pleated plaid skirt and a halter-style top that he might have called a shirt if it had not been made of white lace, through which he could clearly see her nipples and the rings that transfixed them. Lewis noticed his expression.

"Enjoy it now," the big man rumbled. "She won't be wearing it long."

Smiling, Deva took Guerrero's right hand, while Zahra kept a grip on his left. Between them, they pulled him toward a stairwell leading down. "Wait 'til you see the basement," Zahra gushed in anticipation.

He was not sure what he had been expecting, but it was not a good-size dungeon concealed behind a door that might have led to an unfinished storage room in the average person's cellar. A structure like the frame of a swing-set lined one entire wall. There were hooks in the ceiling and a spanking bench in the far corner. An overstuffed armchair looked out of place on the wall facing the bondage frame. An ordinary wood table sat in the middle of the concrete floor.

"Deva would like to play with Zahra a little, if that is acceptable," Lewis told him, as if the consent were Guerrero's alone to give. "She's exploring her possibilities as a domme. Then," he continued, snaking one meaty hand around Zahra to clasp her throat in a gentle but subtly threatening manner, "I have a few ideas of my own."

Zahra was staring at Guerrero. He felt a small thrill to realize that she was waiting for his permission. He raised his eyebrows at her. She stepped closer to him and clasped the lapels of his shirt, peeking up at him demurely. "What do you think, boss?" she murmured, eyelashes lowered.

He could not restrain a grin, bearing witness to this side of the confident doctor's personality. He planted a kiss on the top of her head. When he looked up at Lewis, his blue eyes were cold. "No penetration, dude."

It did not escape his notice that Zahra mouthed _Told you_ at the heavier man.

Lewis spread his chubby hands accommodatingly. "As you wish." He went to the corner and began to measure out a few lengths of rope from a coil.

"Would you be so good as to assist me?" Deva asked, her lips suddenly very near to his ear.

Guerrero flicked his eyes pointedly down at her decolletage. "Sure, hon." He shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the table. He saw Zahra watching him with some interest as he rolled up the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Lewis handed Deva the rope, then settled into the armchair. The long-haired woman jerked her head at the large wooden frame. "Shoes off. Back against the wall," she told Zahra.

Zahra stepped out of her heels and backed up, eyes lowered, until she bumped up against the concrete wall. Guerrero could see her relaxing into her submission. Deva stalked forward and kicked her ankles apart, then leaned over to grab a long bar from its position leaning in the corner. There were leather cuffs attached to each end of the bar, and she bent to fasten one around each of Zahra's ankles. The spreader bar kept the petite woman's feet far enough apart that she would soon feel the strain.

"Help me with her arms?" Deva asked him, her voice and eyes flirtatious. Guerrero stepped forward to assist the other woman in slipping a loop around Zahra's wrists. Zahra's dark eyes regarded him calmly through her long lashes as he fastened the rope over a hook in the top of the frame. He backed up and levered himself into a seat on the table, drinking in the sight of the doctor's lean, strong body pulled into an upside-down Y. Her eyes were on Deva, however, and he saw her cringe ever so slightly. Guerrero followed her gaze to the contraption clutched in the Filipina's hand: it looked something like a medical otoscope, but a long cord connected it to an electrical outlet in the wall. He frowned pensively. What was it? A vibrator? Zahra's reaction to the sight of the apparatus suggested otherwise.

Deva noticed his confusion. "It's a violet wand," she explained, as if this should mean something to him. She approached her submissive and touched what appeared to be the business-end of the object in her hand to Zahra's forearm, above both women's heads. She switched the gadget on, and it emitted a low-frequency hum. Zahra grimaced at the sound and turned her face toward her opposite shoulder. Deva adjusted a dial, then drew the tip of the wand down Zahra's arm. Guerrero felt gooseflesh rise on the back of his neck at this simple, sensual act. Zahra's breath was coming fast; her hands worked above the rope. Her eyes lifted to meet Guerrero's just as Deva pulled the violet wand away from the tender flesh of Zahra's triceps; he heard more than saw the electrical crackle that jumped between metal and skin. She held his gaze even while she jerked away from the stimulus, and so saw the wide smile that parted his lips.

Deva continued down Zahra's arm, keeping contact until she reached the sensitive skin of the doctor's armpit. Once again she drew the wand away and forced the current to jump the gap. Zahra winced, crying out. After a long moment, Deva closed the circuit.

"I wanna see her tits," Lewis announced. Guerrero had almost forgotten the other man was there, so focused had he been on the interplay between the two women. He turned and raised an eyebrow, but he could not disagree with the man's basic sentiment.

Not lifting the violet wand from Zahra's skin, Deva unfastened the halter at the back of the shorter woman's neck with her off hand and dragged the lace top down to her waist. After a moment's consideration, she lifted the front of the plaid skirt and tucked it up into the waistband, exposing the edges of Zahra's mound and the white thong Guerrero had bypassed earlier in his assault on her sex. He knew that the fabric would still be wet and fragrant from her lust. There was something about the slatternliness of the doctor with her clothes thus disarranged that aroused Guerrero immensely. Her eyes seemed to widen slightly at the expression of desire on his face.

Deva slid the tip of the wand down to Zahra's side and pulled it away slightly. She ran the contraption up and down the submissive's upthrust ribcage, the point only a hair's-breadth from her flesh and bone. Zahra wriggled, trying to both bend her knees and curl them up toward her chest protectively; the spreader-bar prevented her. Guerrero watched this struggle with interest, but carefully: he was not willing to let her dislocate a shoulder in this modified _strappado_. Zahra ceased her writhing as Deva touched the wand back to her. Leaning forward, the domme mouthed the protrusion of Zahra's lowest right rib, suckling it. Zahra sighed, but then cried out when Deva let the wand's tip hover over the wet spot. Electricity played over the entire moistened area. Grinning, Deva licked the other woman's nipple and let the wand trail up her torso, clearly headed for her breasts.

Guerrero was at Zahra's side in a flash, Deva's wrist arrested by his left hand, the wand in his right. Its tip produced a warm, tingling sensation on his palm. He shook his head at the domme's surprised look. "Not the piercings," he warned. "You could burn her."

Deva produced an impressive pout, then looked at Zahra, whose eyes were dark, liquid pools focused on Guerrero. "Quite the Lord Protector you have here," Deva purred. She switched off the violet wand and, gaze turned challengingly on Zahra, pressed herself against Guerrero, who found himself absorbed into a passionate, aggressive kiss. He watched Zahra past the waves of brown-black hair. She was biting her lower lip, eyebrows drawn down; he could not gauge the exact nature of her expression. Deva grabbed his hand and pressed his palm against one of her voluptuous buttocks, then walked her lips down his chin to his throat and flicked her tongue against his adam's apple. "You don't let him do that, do you, slut? You don't let him kiss you?"

"She lets me do whatever I want," he corrected, squeezing her ass firmly.

The look in Deva's eyes was one of genuine surprise as she regarded him for a long moment. "So what do you want?" she asked seductively once she had recovered herself.

Guerrero leaned down and whispered in the ear that was farthest from Zahra, who strained obviously to catch his words. A throaty laugh erupted from Deva. "Twist my arm..." she teased, rubbing her curvacious body against Guerrero. He popped her backside once encouragingly and returned to the table. Lewis was leaning back in the armchair, legs crossed, chin in hand. Guerrero tossed him a questioning glance. _We okay? _The larger man allowed a small, evil grin of fraternity to curve his lips.

Deva was working Zahra's body again with the violet wand. The doctor would hold her breath in dread as the apparatus trailed over her flesh, then gasp in startled pain when Deva drew it away. Guerrero licked his lips when the domme moved down Zahra's body to her sensitive inner thighs. The submissive cried out every time the wand shocked her. She struggled against the restraint of her legs, trying to bend her knees and bring them together. Each failed attempt produced a sob of frustration that Guerrero found completely endearing.

"Have you had enough?" Deva taunted finally.

Zahra screwed her face up in mortification. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am," she murmured.

Clearly unsatisfied with this response, Deva slipped the wand over Zahra's thigh to tag one pert buttock. The submissive yelped.

"I asked if you've had enough, slut!"

"Ow. Ma'am, yes, ma'am, please, I've had enough." Zahra was shaking with pain as Deva ran the current up and down her thigh. "Ma'am, please, ma'am!"

"I was going to see if I could make you cry by shocking that little pussy of yours," Deva began, gripping her submissive's right breast harshly in her off hand, "but your daddy there has convinced me that's not such a great idea with all that damn jewelry you have. So I'll give you a different task: eat _my_ pussy. Would you like that?" She touched the wand down, then lifted it up again.

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like that!"

"Convince me," Deva ordered. She removed her hand from Zahra's breast and raised it to insert two fingers in the doctor's mouth. Zahra immediately set to sucking the fingers as if they were a penis, her head bobbing, her cheeks hollowing out. Guerrero ran a hand over his mouth; the semi-erection he had been nursing swelled convulsively. Deva turned her head to observe the effect of these ministrations first on Lewis, then on Guerrero. Chuckling at their expressions, she switched off the violet wand and pulled her fingers out of Zahra's mouth. There was an audible pop when she broke the suction. Guerrero grimaced with lust. The Filipina slipped to her knees, full vinyl-clad ass rounding out; she unfastened the cuffs around Zahra's ankles. Then she stood and reached up to undo the rope from the top of the frame. She adjusted the loop around Zahra's wrists so they were still bound together.

"Down."

Zahra knelt. Deva pulled on the rope around her wrists, tugging her submissive after her. Zahra stumbled forward on her knees past Guerrero to the armchair, eyes lowered. Lewis welcomed Deva onto his lap, and she rotated on his thighs until she was facing outward. "Panties." Zahra reached under the domme's dress with her bound hands and slid her thong down her legs. Deva hiked the skirt up, spread her legs, and leaned back against Lewis' chest. The big man grabbed one of her full breasts in each of his hands. Guerrero was staring at Deva's sex. The domme winked at him; he returned it, a grin threatening to curve his lips. Then she jerked on the rope. Her slick folds and her neatly-trimmed dark fur disappeared behind Zahra's head. Deva moaned triumphantly, staring down at her submissive. Guerrero moved to the other end of the table for a better view. The sight of Zahra's pink tongue lapping at Deva's center sent his mind reeling. He bit the insides of his cheeks, stifling a groan of desire. He fought the urge to fall to his knees behind Zahra and plunge into her while she pleasured the domme.

Lewis was nuzzling Deva's neck, massaging her breasts, as the writhing woman gasped helplessly. "That's right, slut...yeah...like that...keep going..." Lewis pinched her nipples through the vinyl, and she cried out. She worked her hand into her submissive's dark hair, loosening the twin braids, and drew her mouth closer. Zahra leaned in, bracing herself on her bound hands, tonguing furiously. Deva arched her back and tensed, letting forth rhythmic shrieks as wave after wave of orgasm possessed her. At last she shuddered, her hand crushing Zahra's face to her sex, and moaned with her final release.

"On your feet," Lewis barked. Zahra struggled to a standing position, chest heaving. The big man kissed his partner deeply, then rose to his feet, sliding Deva onto the cushion of the armchair in his place, where she collapsed in a satisfied puddle. Lewis leaned toward Zahra and, to Guerrero's mild surprise, licked her face clean of the other woman's orgasmic juices. Then he cocked his head at the smaller man.

"Sean, would you mind undressing our little pet here? Completely, if you would."

"Sure, dude," Guerrero replied. He was trying for nonchalance, but the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him. Zahra shivered as he stepped behind her and kissed the back of her neck. Her eyes were wide, her heart pounding. He unzipped the pleated skirt, which began to slip down her hips. He paused to brush his fingers teasingly over her pierced nipples. She moaned achingly and arched herself back against him. Guerrero flattened his palms against her flesh and ran his hands all over her torso. His touch was a promise that she understood and accepted.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he murmured. He palmed her buttocks under the plaid skirt.

"Wasn't I a good girl for Deva, boss?" she moaned, goosebumps rising all over her flesh. "Wasn't that what you wanted, boss?"

Guerrero smiled to realize she had guessed the request he had made of Deva. He rubbed his facial hair against her neck and mouthed her nape. "Oh, yes," he assured her. "I'll give you a nice reward later." Her lips were parted with anticipation; her breath came heavily. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her thong, then dragged skirt, top, and panties down her legs. Finding his face at the level of her backside, he could not help fixing his teeth in a gentle bite on her buttock. Zahra shivered. He grasped her ankles gently to guide her feet out of the clothes.

Lewis looked her over, clearly relishing what he saw. Guerrero knew that this was not the first time the larger man had seen Zahra naked; he wondered what specific acts they had actually performed together. Seeming to understand the train of the shorter man's thoughts, Lewis telegraphed a glance at Guerrero that he grasped perfectly: _thanks for letting me play with your toy_. Then the plump dom pushed Zahra gently toward the spanking bench and patted her flanks briskly, as one might a horse's. "Down you go, my dear."

"Sir, yes, sir," she murmured, obediently straddling the bench. Guerrero felt an odd rush when he saw her bare inner thighs and breasts came to rest on the leather. She shifted until she was comfortable kneeling over the omega-shaped contraption. Lewis pulled her bound wrists forward and down toward the horse's support beam and secured her hands. She now crouched with her face pressed against the leather. With her ass tilted up like this, she was totally exposed: labia, clitoris (with its metal ring), rectum, everything. Deva hummed in appreciation from her seat in the armchair. Guerrero cocked his head, admiring the awkward but available angle of Zahra's pelvis. He leaned back against the table.

Lewis only waited. Zahra began to take deep, measured breaths. Deva murmured words of encouragement: "Just settle down into your subspace, baby. Don't anticipate. Take what he wants, when he wants it."

Guerrero watched with curiosity and some professional admiration as Lewis finally made a move to spread a piece of plastic sheeting under the spanking horse. The heavy-set man struck a match and lit a pillar candle. "To be honest with you, little one," Lewis announced softly but clearly, "I just want to play a little bit. Warm you up for Sean here. I suspect that after he watches me play with you, he'll want to fuck you like this." A flush spread over Zahra's face and body at the coarseness of the words. Guerrero stifled a smile, popping his tongue into his cheek. Lewis was right: he did want to fuck her like that.

The dom rubbed a small, smooth hand over Zahra's ass. "I'm going to give you ten, slut. Don't forget to count. Backwards, if you please."

"Sir, yes, sir."

Lewis' hand pulled back and smacked Zahra hard on the upper thigh, just in the meaty part below her left buttock. She winced. "Ten."

Another smack, this time on the right side. "Nine."

Again on the right. Harder. "Eight," Zahra hissed.

A loud pop sounded as Lewis spanked her smartly on the top of her left buttock. "Seven," she grunted. The dom was taking this seriously. Guerrero pursed his lips, knitting his brows, but he could not deny that the sight of Zahra's reddened backside jiggling after every blow was arousing him enormously.

Two smacks in quick succession on the right side. "Six. Five!"

A particularly hard one on the left. "Four!" Zahra wailed. Her breathing was shallow as tears sprang to her eyes.

"Only three more," Lewis said quietly. "Breathe." He waited until the submissive's breathing had slowed, then spanked her twice, sharply, on the right buttock. "Three, two!"

One loud slap on the left. "ONE!" And it was over. Zahra gasped for breath as Lewis rubbed the smarting flesh to ease the sting. He indicated to Guerrero the attractive pinkish tinge of the girl's bottom. The shaggy-haired man tilted his head in appreciation of the view.

"Now I'm going to give you a little bit of a treat, since you were so good."

Zahra snuffled.

"What do you say, bitch?" The dom grabbed Zahra by one braid and yanked her head back at a sharp angle. Guerrero objected somewhat to the name-calling, but he was willing to let this play out a little more.

"Sir, thank you, sir!"

"Good girl." Lewis released his grip on Zahra's hair and reached for the candle. The wax on the top was nicely melted by this time. "As I recall, you like hot wax, slave."

"Sir, yes, sir."

With no other preface, Lewis dumped a spill of wax onto Zahra's exposed back. She hissed and clenched her whole body toward a fetal position. "Relax," Lewis soothed. Zahra took a deep breath and exhaled into the next splash of heat which struck her flesh. Her pupils dilated. Her lips parted with desire, eyelashes fluttering. Goosebumps rose on Guerrero's skin to see the warm, sensuous slickness of the wax on her flesh. Another splash came, and another. Soon she was moaning softly and rocking her pelvis in a rhythm that Guerrero already knew well. Deva hummed in delighted sympathy.

"What a good slut," Lewis cooed, and set down the candle. He went to a cabinet against the wall and picked up some items which Guerrero could not yet identify; they produced clacking noises. He could see by Zahra's sudden tension that she could hear the sounds too. The dom had also noticed her distress.

"No, you don't like that noise, do you?" Lewis laughed. "Do you know what I'm going to do next?"

She grimaced, her anxiety growing. "Sir, no, sir."

He paused for dramatic effect, enjoying the submissive's fear. "I'm going to run a zipper, dearest," he said at last, dangling the chain of clothespins in front of her face. To Guerrero's surprise, Zahra whimpered. Lewis tracked back around to Zahra's rear. "Now, now. I'll give you a little incentive." A gentle buzzing erupted from Lewis's other hand. He brushed her thigh with the vibrator. Zahra, still unaware of what the object was, struggled; the ropes were beginning to cut into her wrists. "Sit still, bitch." Lewis's force was measured but sharp. Zahra froze, and the dom started to track the vibrator along her thigh toward her sex. The little buzzing toy traced down between her buttocks and then between her labia. Her gasp at the sudden stimulation transformed into a moan of shame at her uncontrollable reaction. Lewis's skilled fingers tugged her lips to pull up her hood, and the vibrator rattled softly against the little steel ring nestled against her nub. Zahra moaned. Guerrero's hands tightened on the edge of the table.

Suddenly, Lewis pulled the vibrator away. "Do you want me to continue?"

"Oh, sir, yes! Sir, please, sir," Zahra breathed.

"Then be still while I clip you."

She groaned wretchedly as Lewis grabbed the first pinch of skin on her thigh and clamped it with a clothespin. She worked actively to control her breathing. A second clip found a place on her other thigh. Zahra hummed with panic.

"Think about how good that sweet clit of yours is going to feel. Put everything right there. You want me to put the vibrator back on, don't you?"

Zahra gritted her teeth. "Sir, yes, sir."

A third pin. A fourth. A fifth. A sixth. Her inner thighs were now laced up with six clothespins attached to each other by a chain. There were still two pins left. Guerrero winced as Lewis clipped one onto each of her labia. She made a low keening noise in her throat.

"Let's give it a minute to work, shall we?" Lewis suggested, and began to stroke the pinched flesh around the clamps. Zahra sobbed miserably. He jiggled the chain, smiling at the girl's protesting cry. "All right, dear. Now beg me."

"Sir, please take them off, sir!" she hiccupped.

Lewis jangled the chain thoughtfully, causing another outcry. "You want me to take them off? Is that it?" Guerrero knew that the pain would flare intensely when the dom removed the clothespins as blood rushed into the clamped flesh.

Zahra knew this too, apparently. "No! Sir, no, sir. Sir, the vibrator, please, sir."

"What about the vibrator?"

"Sir, please put the vibrator on my clit, sir!" Zahra begged, gulping on her sobs.

Lewis switched the vibrator on, letting her hear its soothing buzz. Slowly, deliberately, he moved the toy toward the prone woman's dripping sex. She cried out with pleasure and gratitude as the vibrator descended on her swollen nub.

"Sir, thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet, child." While he held the vibrator on her sex with his right hand, Lewis rolled the zipper's chain between the fingers of his left hand. "This still has to come off."

Zahra closed her eyes, breathing heavily. Tiny cries of pleasure escaped her lips as she arched her back and pressed herself against the toy.

"Breathe," Lewis ordered, and before Zahra could inhale again, the dom pulled sharply on the chain, ripping the clothespins off the woman's pinched thighs and labia. She shrieked with startled hurt, but then Guerrero saw her convulsing with release as her orgasm crashed over her. She screamed out loud as the vibrator continued its assault against her sex. She wriggled, trying to free herself from the painful pleasure wracking her, but she could not escape. Slowly she subsided, and, incredibly, she began to moan hungrily, ready for another climax.

But then the vibrator was gone. Zahra wailed in animal confusion. Lewis turned and grinned at Guerrero, who did not need to be told twice. He sprang off the table, erection straining. The heavy-set man gestured to Deva, who waved at Guerrero. The couple slipped out of the room, Lewis's hand already sneaking under the vinyl skirt.

Guerrero was at Zahra's side in a second, tracing his fingers gently over her still-pink backside. She sighed. "Mine," was all he could think to say for the moment as he stroked her hair. Looking her over, he smoothed now-cold wax off her skin. "Do you have any idea how sexy you look like this? I want you so bad, doc."

"Yes," she gasped. "Please, boss."

"Yeah, suck it. Like that," Lewis groaned from the other room.

"I want to fuck you right here, like this," Guerrero murmured. "Would you like that?"

"Yes. Yes, please."

_Christ_. He took a deep breath. _This is real. This is Zahra. _His hands were shaking as he undid his fly and freed his erection. "Say it," he demanded.

"Please fuck me, boss."

"Who?"

"...Sean," she begged, her voice trembling. "Please fuck me, Sean."

The second the words were out of her mouth, he plunged into her sodden passage and drew a sharp breath, feeling her tight heat around him. Zahra moaned languorously as he stretched and filled her. Gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, he pulled out until his tip was just nudging the outside of her passage. She strained against the ropes which bound her wrists and tilted her pelvis back to pull him inside her.

"Yes, Sean, please."

Desperate, he thrust into her roughly but lovingly. She wailed and rocked against him, gasping for release. He slammed into her violently, insane with her pleasure and his own, and groaned, shaking, finally almost weeping with the intensity of his orgasm.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Rated T+ for some sexuality. Although if you've gotten this far, the rating shouldn't bother you anymore...

Please review, if you can. I need input to improve the story. kthx

oooOOOooo

When he returned to himself, Zahra was trembling uncontrollably, her overstimulated muscles twitching. He zipped up his fly and enjoyed the view for a few more seconds. Then he stepped around the front of the bench to free her hands. Zahra sat up on her haunches as he examined her wrists; she would have to wear long sleeves for a few days to cover the rope burn. Her face was blotchy with crying. A large patch of red marked the cheek that had been pressed against the leather. Mascara and eyeliner had left dark smudges under her eyes. She raised her shaking hands to wipe the salty residue of her tears away, her eyes not quite meeting his gaze. Guerrero cupped the back of her neck and kissed her tenderly. She curled against him, tucking her fingers into the gaps between his shirt buttons. He released her mouth and turned at the sound of high-heeled footsteps. Deva stopped a few feet away, lips parted in surprise. She glanced down at the towel in her hands to recover her equilibrium.

Zahra pushed herself unaided off the spanking bench and tried to steady her legs underneath her. "Whoa," she murmured, tottering. Guerrero grabbed her upper arm and put a hand in the small of her back. Deva unfolded the enormous, oversize rectangle of terrycloth in her hands and wrapped it around the doctor's shoulders. "Waterproof is key," Deva clucked, using her thumb to wipe at the smudges of make-up under her friend's eyes. Zahra smiled weakly. The Filipina looked at Guerrero. "Help me get her to the bathroom?"

"I got her." He wrapped Zahra tighter in the towel, then bent to tuck one arm under her knees. She twitched when he lifted her, throwing her arms around his neck to hang on for dear life. "I won't drop you," he assured her, chuckling. She clung to him desperately as Deva led the way out of the dungeon. He lowered his chin to meet the top of her head, which was buried in the curve of his neck. Her breath was hot and uneven against his throat.

"Right in there," Deva said, pointing into a half-bath near the stairs. Lewis appeared from the stairwell to hand his girlfriend a glass of orange juice, which Deva brought into the bathroom and set on the sink. Guerrero deposited Zahra on the closed toilet seat. Deva was taking down a facecloth from the towel rack and running it under the faucet. Zahra cupped his cheeks as he pulled away, her eyes dark as stars. "We'll be out in just a minute," Deva dismissed him. She shut the door behind him.

Lewis stood right outside the bathroom door, two glasses of scotch in hand. He jerked his head, and Guerrero followed him toward the sofa set in the main area of the basement. It was arranged comfortably as an ordinary, bourgeois den or t.v. room, the sort of area a man might disappear into to watch Monday Night Football. Lewis handed him one of the drinks, then clinked his glass against Guerrero's. "_Prost_."

"_Kampai_," the bespectacled man concurred.

Lewis gulped scotch and took a seat on the couch. Guerrero collapsed onto the matching loveseat. The sound of tired giggling erupted from behind the closed bathroom door.

"So," the large man began after a long moment of silence. Guerrero felt for a split-second as if he were meeting Zahra's father. "She lets you kiss her."

Guerrero smirked into his glass. "I made her do it one time, and I guess she liked it."

"She likes _you_," the other man opined.

Guerrero, unused to other men being as candid as he, was saved from the necessity of responding by the opening of the bathroom door, through which issued the two women. Zahra's face was shiny and clean. Her hair had been neatly re-braided. Still swaddled in the oversized towel, she tumbled onto the loveseat with him and flashed him a lazy, heavy-lidded smile. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her warm body toward his side. "Deva says that outfit was yours, Lewis," she said with a tired but teasing note in her voice.

The big man laughed, sliding his hands over the vinyl of Deva's costume as the voluptuous woman crawled onto the cushion next to him and began to unzip her boots. "Sure, ten years and forty pounds ago."

"Lewis used to perform in drag," Deva explained to Guerrero, slipping her right boot off.

"'Patti Four'," Zahra interjected, chuckling. She pointed to a glamour portrait hung on the wall. A beautiful, if large-boned, woman with curly blonde hair gazed out from the photo, a sultry pout on her lips. Guerrero could have taken the model for Lewis' sister, except for the size of her hands, and the adam's apple. "More straight men do female impersonation than you would imagine," Zahra added, anticipating his next question.

Guerrero nodded. "One is more than zero, yeah."

Deva giggled and crossed her now-bare legs, leaning against Lewis' shoulder. The big man gave her a sip of his whiskey. She looked appraisingly at Guerrero as she swallowed. He returned her gaze calmly.

"I would not recommend getting into a staring contest with him, D," Zahra warned, pulling back from Guerrero slightly to watch his face. "I think he was a Doberman in a past life."

Deva made a show of glancing away from the alpha male, eyelids fluttering coquettishly. "I had hoped," she told Zahra, "that he might be the type of guy who likes to work less...buttoned-up. I wanted to see..." She broke off and flared her eyes meaningfully at the doctor, who grinned.

For a brief moment, Guerrero thought the woman was referring to his genitalia. Then he followed her eyeline to his chest.

"Can we take your shirt off?" Zahra asked, cuddling halfway onto his lap, her face only a hair's-breadth from his own. Her fingers were already toying with the top button of his dress shirt. "Can we show them?"

"They're yours to show, doc," he murmured softly. A shiver ran through her, and she nuzzled his acne-scarred cheek. Zahra undid the rest of his buttons and slid his shirt off like she was unwrapping a present. When Deva leaned forward curiously, Zahra pushed him gently to his feet so the other woman could have a better look. The Filipina stepped up to him, now much shorter in bare feet. Her fingers ghosted over his piercings. Even this light touch hardened his nipples. Zahra put her arms around his waist and leaned her face on his hip, peeking up at him, eyes smiling.

"I've been wanting to have her do it for me, but Lewis says 'no'," Deva complained, producing that full-lipped pout.

Guerrero glanced down at her full breasts. "I don't know, dude," he told the other man, though still making eye contact with Deva's mammaries. "I'm definitely a convert."

Lewis sipped his drink and said nothing.

"He thinks they make Zahra _too_ sensitive," Deva explained on his behalf.

Guerrero did not yet feel qualified to contradict this statement. He did plan to test the theory out, though. He stroked Zahra's hands where they were clasped beside his navel, wondering how long it would take her to beg for mercy once he set to teasing her nipples with his tongue.

"But your boobs are way bigger than mine, Dev," she chimed in, unaware of the fantasy Guerrero's brain was unfolding. "I was always more sensitive than you."

The other woman turned to Lewis with eyebrows arched, as if to say _So there_.

"Well, you're not getting the clit ring," the big man weighed in, with a tone of finality.

Deva wrinkled her nose and shivered. "Ooh. No.

"Easiest piercing I ever got," Zahra submitted temptingly.

Guerrero suddenly could not think of anything except getting the doctor alone and exploring her body fully. He was annoyed that both the other man and woman in this room had a better understanding of Zahra's physical desires and limitations than he did. He remembered the first time he had thrashed her with his belt, amazed to see her curves and discover her piercings, wondering how much she could take from him and how badly she would bruise.

Deva was running her hands over his belly now, only centimeters from Zahra's clasped hands, clearly relishing his lean, muscular frame. Guerrero glanced down at Zahra, and, miraculously, she seemed to read his expression. She planted a kiss on the side of his waist.

"We may have to bid you 'adieu' shortly, my darlings," she told their hosts. "I don't know how much longer I can last."


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Citrus of some kind (I find my lemons and limes hard to distinguish sometimes). I don't own Patsy Cline's music.

oooOOOooo

"So..." he said ruefully as they entered her apartment. She stood obediently still while he unbuttoned her long coat and slipped it off her shoulders. "I need to check in with Chance."

Zahra cocked an eyebrow at him as she took her coat from him and threw it over the back of the couch. "Miss your curfew?"

Guerrero looked her over in the outfit that barely counted as 'naughty schoolgirl'. "Gotta make sure everything from Montreal got wrapped up okay." He leaned forward and kissed her with restraint. He could not help cupping her buttocks as she swayed against him, however, and he felt her warm flesh under the short skirt.

"I'll just hop in the shower and wash up, then," she announced when they broke from the kiss.

Her thighs felt like warm silk. "Gonna be okay?" he asked solicitously.

"Think I need a chaperone?" she giggled against his neck, drawing her nails down his pectorals onto his belly.

"Worried you're gonna pass out." He hoped that she would not move her hands any closer to his fly. Not right now, anyway.

"Don't flatter yourself!" she teased, flashing her eyes at him. "And don't take too long."

He kissed her hand, then released it as she started up the stairs, admiring the shape of her calves above the high heels. When she disappeared from view, he slipped off his leather blazer and draped it over the back of the sofa next to her coat. He wandered into the kitchen, slipping his phone out of his pocket, and dialed Chance. "Hey, dude." He heard Zahra turn on some music upstairs; he could not identify the tune.

"Well, hello," Chance replied broadly. Guerrero knew there would be an off-putting grin on the blond's face. "Didn't think we'd hear from you tonight."

"Checking in _tonight_, bro, to see if you need me, 'cause you won't be hearing from me _tomorrow_." He heard the shower turn on upstairs and thought about hot water streaming over Zahra's nude body. "Probably not Sunday either. Or possibly Monday. So is everything straight?"

He missed the better part of Chance's reply, because he spotted the vermilion and white orchid sitting in the kitchen window. Michiko had picked a real beaut. The card he had dictated was propped against the pot.

"...but Ilsa doesn't want anything to do with it."

He went back to the bottom of the stairs and stared up. He could hear the music clearly now.

_See the pyramids along the Nile  
__Watch the sunrise from a tropic isle_

He gripped the bannister with the hand that was not holding the smartphone until his knuckles paled.

"Guerrero?"

"This sucks, dude. I'm too old for this shit." He toed the bottom step lightly with his boot.

"Zahra?" Chance guessed, immediately grasping his long-time friend's train of thought.

The bespectacled man sighed. "Stick a fork in me: I'm done."

The blond man was silent for a moment. "Yeah. Enjoy your weekend, man," he said at last, then hung up.

_I'd be so alone without you_

Guerrero slid his smartphone into the pocket of his blazer where it lay over the sofa back, then took the stairs two at a time. He spotted the speakers for her mp3 player sitting on the dresser. Zahra was in the adjoining bathroom, drying herself with a towel. He leaned in the doorframe. "Everything okay?" she asked as she bent to wipe moisture from her ankles and feet. Then she straightened up and saw his face. "What-?"

"You pick this song?" he asked quietly, jerking his head in the direction of the speakers.

She stared at him in confusion.

_Maybe you'd be lonesome too  
__And blue_

Zahra's mouth suddenly dropped open as she recognized the song, and the color drained from her face. "I-"

Then his lips were upon hers. He spent no time with polite exploration, but thrust her lips apart and plundered her mouth. Zahra arched her naked body against him, her fingers snaking inside his collar to cup his neck. His hands clasped her shoulder blades and buttocks.

_Fly the ocean in a silver plane  
__See the jungle when it's wet with rain  
__Just remember 'til you're home again  
__You belong to me_

She pulled away from his mouth, gasping, desperate to see his eyes. He rested his forehead against hers and set their bodies swaying to the music. He sipped tiny kisses from her lips.

"So what do you want for your reward?" he murmured as they danced.

She smiled, a little sadly. "So eager."

_Fly the ocean in a silver plane  
__See the jungle when it's wet with rain  
__Just remember 'til you're home again  
__You belong to me_

He leaned down to brush his lips against the hollow of her throat. "Tell me. I am completely at your service."

"Yes. You are." Something about her posture shifted slightly. "Go sit on the edge of the bed."

"Yes, ma'am. And I'd just like the alacrity to be noted for the record, here," he called back over his shoulder as he obeyed.

"Let the record show that Mr. Guerrero obeyed...with alacrity," she said drily, trailing him slowly into the bedroom. Patsy Cline had given way to Johnny Cash. Zahra knelt at the fixer's feet and tugged his boots off. When he bent to help her, she slapped his hand away.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?"

"It's like that," Zahra replied calmly. She unholstered the Ruger from his ankle and set it on the bedside table.

Guerrero tilted back onto one elbow, twisting to reach under her pillow. His hand emerged clutching her .22. He checked the safety and set it next to his LCP.

"Taking inventory?"

"Always good to know what you have on hand," he lectured, half-seriously. "Plus," he added, eyes twinkling, "I don't want you getting shot in the face when I throw you down on that pillow and fuck you into the headboard."

Zahra tongue snaked out to lick her lips, but her attention remained focused on his feet. She unsnapped the holster and started on his socks. He was fascinated by the tableau of their two handguns, side by side on the small chest of drawers. "How long have you known those two? Lewis and Deva?"

"Almost six years." Wriggling between his knees, she knelt up and set to work on the buttons of his dress shirt. "Deva came to me with pain and menstrual irregularities. It turned out to be ovarian cancer."

"Jesus. But she's okay, obviously."

"Yeah, after I performed a double ovectomy. Luckily, she was early-stage. No metastasis."

He rolled his shoulders, allowing her to slip his shirt off. Zahra's fingernails trailed down his chest onto his belly toward the waistband of his pants. "No belt," she observed, a little teasingly. "Lay back."

"How many times have you and Lewis...?" he asked instead of obeying her. He flipped his hands palm-up inquisitively.

"What?" she countered, willfully ignorant.

"...fucked?"

"You want a number?" she replied archly. Her eyes were calm but somehow dangerous. Guerrero began to wonder if this was really something he needed to fixate on. "Zero. Lewis has penetrated me with several things, but never his prick."

He tilted his head in confusion. "So you've _never_ had sex with him?"

"Who are you, Bill Clinton?" she asked wryly. "We've had plenty of sex. Just not your patriarchal notion of penis-in-vagina coitus. Now lay back so I can get your pants off."

Guerrero obeyed her this time. "That's heavy, doc. I mean, he basically invited me to fuck you tonight. That would bug me, if I was him: this guy shows up out of nowhere, and not only do you let him kiss you, but you let him fuck you..." He stared up at the ceiling and adjusted his glasses as she undid his fly. He lifted his hips to help her work his trousers down his legs. "How come you let me do that, doc?" He was only partly conscious of holding his breath.

Zahra paused, her fingers inside the waistband of his boxers, and looked up at him. "I can talk, or I can suck your dick. You choose."

He grimaced to feel the rush of blood toward his traitorous prick. He had brought himself to climax only hours before in the tiny lavatory of Ilsa's jet, imagining Zahra's mouth massaging him in place of his hand.

She apparently took his silence as assent; she tugged his undershorts off and clambered onto the bed with him, her small hand clasping his burgeoning erection in its warmth. She hummed happily as she stroked him. "Zahra, I want to talk about this," he managed to gasp, or maybe he only thought he did, because her mouth closed over his nipple, lightly suckling and tonguing the bud that she herself had pierced, and rational thought became an immense struggle for him. He choked back a groan. Her thumb and forefinger formed a circle that milked the base of his shaft. She kissed her way across his chest to his other nipple. His fingers clenched, curling in her damp hair, as she teased his nipple with her tongue.

"Told you you'd be grateful," she gloated. The fingers of her left hand replaced her mouth, which traveled down his belly, kissing its way toward his prick. The pleasure in his nipple was so intense that he almost begged for her to stop tormenting him. The memory of something Lewis had said earlier grazed his consciousness...something that Guerrero himself had-

Suddenly the sensation on his nipple was gone, and he felt her breath on his cock. She twisted her body, throwing her left leg over his torso to straddle him in a north-south position. He lifted his head to find himself staring directly at her sex. He could still see the slight bruising on her inner thighs from the zipper Lewis had run. The captive-bead ring protruded from her swollen clitoris. Excitedly, he curled up toward her, parting her labia with one hand, extending his tongue.

Zahra sat up abruptly, and her hand left his prick to pin him down by the throat, twisting her spine to tilt her head at him like some bird of prey. He swallowed, both confused and aroused by the hot pressure on his adam's apple. "Hands behind your head," she ordered fiercely.

Guerrero stared up at her in disappointment. "I wanna eat you out," he protested. Speaking made the presence of her hand against his windpipe all the more obvious.

"I don't give a fuck what you want," she retorted. "Hands behind your head." He became suddenly aware of the moisture between her legs glazing his ribcage. _This is what she wants for her reward_, he accepted. With deliberate movements, he swung his arms out from her buttocks and rested the back of his head on his stacked palms.

Zahra gave no sign of praise or approval. "You may look, but you may not touch. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She removed her hand from his throat, still gazing imperiously down at him. Slowly she turned and crouched back down. He felt his now-throbbing erection twitch as she settled herself into a comfortable position. He stared at her slick, sensitive folds, vowing that he would have his chance too. He took deep breaths and planned his revenge. Maybe he would put her in this very same position, but take a crop to her ass while he tongued her to climax. Maybe he would tie her in the bathtub and run the tap over her defenseless sex, the rushing water forcing orgasm after orgasm from her overstimulated flesh. Maybe he would-

Her wet mouth closed over him, and he gasped. Her small fist set up a rhythm once more at the base of his shaft while her lips traveled his length, up and down. He wanted to reach out and grab her strong thighs; he laced his fingers together behind his head to prevent this. Through lowered eyelids he continued to watch her sex, the muscles of which flexed and swayed in time with her exertions. Over the fleshy curves of her backside, he could just see her head bobbing up and down. Her braids and the locks of hair that had escaped them tickled and smoothed and thwapped his thighs. He moaned happily as she tugged his foreskin down even further and drizzled her tongue over his exposed head. Hearing his reaction, she commenced an enthusiastic assault on his tip. His breath was coming very fast. When she opened her jaw wide and let his entire cock slip in until he struck the back of her throat, he gritted his teeth so as not to thrust up into her again and again. He abandoned himself to her ministrations, allowing her to control the speed, the pressure, the depth. Her hand worked feverishly in time with her mouth.

The panic tore through him without warning, and then everywhere she touched dissolved into molten ecstasy, and something like a roar escaped his lips, and he was emptying himself inside her. He shuddered as she slowed her pace, milking the last drops of fluid from him with slow, measured suction. He floated for several long moments as she nursed him in this way.

"Christ," he croaked at last. "If I'd known you could do that, I woulda just taken payment in _kind_ for beating you. Fuck the money."

"A $350 blowjob?" she asked doubtfully, tossing her braids over her shoulders and crawling off of him.

"I woulda paid three-seventy-five for that, easy. Maybe even three-eighty." He laughed lazily, still feeling a little punchdrunk. Zahra lay down on her side, tucked under his armpit. He wrapped his arms around her.

"Oops," he drawled. "Forgot to ask permission. May I touch?"

"Simon says," she murmured. "And you might recall that you stopped taking my money."

He turned his head and tilted her chin up until he could see her eyes. Slowly and deliberately, he claimed her mouth in a kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue. She sighed, and he rolled over on top of her, thrusting his tongue between her teeth, trying to make her understand. She parted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He could feel her wetness. It was a ridiculous thought - his body could not possibly accomplish it - but he wanted to push inside her, make love to her, fill her every way he could, own her with his prick and draw from her that deep and possessing climax born of joint struggle.

_Hear me_, he willed. _Hear me. This is me. This is me, and this is you, Zahra, my shining one, and someday we'll both be worm food, but right now...this is me, and this is you._


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I promise more than sexy tiems in the next few chaps. But also sexy tiems. p

oooOOOooo

He ran his hands over his body, relishing the feel of her warm, soft skin. As he was caressing one of her breasts, his fingers brushed over her nipple. She gasped into his mouth and arched her body against him. He suddenly remembered what Lewis had said about Zahra's nipple rings and the ways in which he himself had planned to test the theory.

First, he needed her restrained. His hand slid down toward her wrist.

Suddenly Zahra's land-line rang, and, groaning, she broke from the kiss, then leaned up on an elbow to check the caller i.d. on the phone's handset.

"Need to take that?" Guerrero asked, burying his face between her small breasts and kissing the hollow at the top of her ribcage. He felt her tense slightly. He looked up to see her eyes still locked on the phone. It occurred to him that late-night calls were not the norm for most people.

"I don't know that number," she answered. She let her head fall back on the pillow, and Guerrero kissed his way around the mound of one breast, deliberately avoiding her nipple. He could still feel the tension in her muscles. He pledged to himself to work on that. _Now for the restraints_.

"Where are those leather cuffs?" he murmured.

"What are you going to do?"

"Redecorate," he retorted, and flicked his tongue very lightly against her nipple ring. "Whatchu think?"

"They're in the bedside," she told him, turning her head to indicate. Her tone was slightly distant. "Bottom drawer."

He leaned across her to tug the drawer open. Seeing the contents, he let out a low whistle. "Doc, you are not a nice girl _at all." _He riffled through the array of floggers, strap-ons, anal plugs, and objects that he could not even identify.

Zahra was silent. He lifted his face to see her staring at the blinking message light on the phone.

"You do know that number." It was a statement more than a question.

She shook her head 'no', still eyeing the blinking light. The change in position forced a sigh out of his lungs as he reached out for the phone and handed it to her, punching the 'on' button with his thumb. She pursed her lips at the handset, then dialed the number for her mailbox. He heard the automated voice requesting her password. She entered four digits which Guerrero, who had begun his career as a black-hat computer hacker with phone phreaking, could instantly identify by their tones: 7-8-4-2. _July 8, 1942? August 7, 1942? April 2, 1978? February 4, 1978? Or a four-letter word..._His brain automatically set to calculating the alphanumeric equivalencies: _QUIC, RUGA, PUHA_...

"We're coming for you, bitch," a man's voice growled from her voice-mailbox. "Just think about that the next time you-"

Zahra hit the '7' key: "Message deleted." She hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bedside, where it rattled against the two handguns. "Fuck," she cursed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I'm going to have to get a new number. Again. And they charge me for unlisting it every damn time."

Guerrero could hear the edge in her voice. He sat up and, grabbing the handset, punched up the last number on the caller i.d. Then he reached for his pants. "Left my phone downstairs."

She stared at him in confusion, propping herself up on her elbows. Her nipples pointed themselves at him in an incongruously merry manner; the rings dangled like metal smiley-faces. "What are you planning to do? Call him back?"

"Something like that."

"Unh-unh." Righting herself, Zahra wrapped her arms and legs around his waist from behind. She leaned her head between his shoulder-blades. "Not worth it."

"The cons, the thugs, the crooks...fixers, hitters, foot-soldiers..." he sighed, dropping his pants back on the floor. "The word's out to them by now. They know that I've got you, and they would never touch you." He turned his head, and she pulled his hair out of the way to nuzzle his neck. "But these fucking 'normal' people, man..."

"The sheep?" she chuckled. "Like me?"

"You're no sheep," Guerrero corrected wryly, inclining his forehead at her .22.

"Oh, are you saying you couldn't con me, steal from me?" She dragged her nails along the tops of his thighs. "Don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you've got my credit card numbers, my social security number, my mother's maiden name..."

"Ayazi," he admitted, a little sheepishly.

"Okay, that's creepy." She giggled nervously and slapped his belly without much force. "How do you know that?"

"Her name was Tamr Ayazi Birdsall," he clarified, dodging the question. He dropped the phone into its cradle. _TAMR_?No, the digits were not right for her password.

"'Was'?" Zahra repeated warily. She scooted around toward his side, brows lowered, to see his face.

Guerrero sighed and relented, preparing to show his hand. "She died in Beirut in the '06 war." He watched her carefully.

"The July War, yes." Her eyes were cautious, but not angry. She bent her leg, hooking her ankle around his far hip.

He pulled her other leg onto his lap and bent to kiss her knee, inhaling her beachy scent. "And the woman who died with her...that was your mother's sister?"

She nodded. "Her older sister. My aunt Jamila."

"And your father, Wilson."

"Yes. My father was bringing them back to the States, but, on their way to the airport, the Israelis started a bombing raid, and an overpass collapsed right onto their car."

Guerrero had known this, but he winced anyway on her behalf. He knew she had no need of a verbal expression of sympathy from him.

"But you already knew all that." Zahra twined her arms around his neck and tilted her head until her face was even with his. "How?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "I read the newspapers."

"It was reported in the Lebanese papers," she said slowly. "Not the American ones. And you don't read Arabic."

He was silent. His blue eyes flicked away for a second.

"But Chance does," Zahra muttered, filling in the blanks. Exhaling heavily, she scooted back toward the middle of the bed and lay down on her belly. He turned to face her, cocking one knee up onto the mattress. Her hair seemed impossibly rich and dark against the white bedsheets.

"He didn't know what I was having him look into, until he saw your father's last name." It was not an apology; nevertheless, his tone was contrite. "Does it bother you?" he asked. "That I looked into your background?" He decided not, however, to inform her how long ago he had conducted this investigation: months previously, after she had hired him and Ames to examine the death threats against her.

"It should bother me, shouldn't it?" she mused, as if the matter had no personal impact on her. She traced an abstract shape on the bedclothes with her fingertip. "If I were a normal person." Her eyes swung up to meet his, and she smiled. "Thank you for my orchid," she added, _apropos_ of nothing.

Guerrero felt a warmth in his belly; it was not sexual. _Jesus, dude._ To distract himself, he reached out to stroke Zahra's spine. She sighed and relaxed under his touch. "Don't mention it," he replied softly, admiring the curves of her muscles. When he smoothed his hand over her back and buttocks, she shivered, arching her back at his touch. Leaning over to part her thighs with strong fingers, he examined the marks from Lewis' zipper. "Your ass is fine," he concluded, "but you've got bruises from the clothespins."

She turned her head to regard him over her shoulder. "I thought you _liked_ seeing bruises on me," she retorted in that wry deadpan to which he had become accustomed.

"I like _causing_ bruises on you."

She arched one dark eyebrow. Twisting her head had shaped her body into a curvacious geography of musculature, fat, and bone that made his mouth go dry.

"Well, I like that you _let _me cause bruises on you," he corrected.

"And you think _I'm _fucked up," she snorted, re-arranging her forearms to prop her chin on them.

He tilted his head slightly to admire the side of her small breast. "But you dig why I like it? Right?"

"I dig," she sighed, allowing herself to settle, as he returned to stroking her skin.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Yeah," she admitted. "It's been a long night." Guerrero could hear the slightly saucy tone in her voice. He grasped the full curves of her buttocks and planted a kiss on each swell. "Will you stay?" she asked casually, but he could feel her holding her breath.

_As long as I can. _"Want me to?"

Zahra rolled over until her back was against his chest and tucked his arm around her ribcage. He spooned her, kissing her neck. "So many times you've been here when I went to sleep," she said in a tiny voice. "But you're never here when I wake up."

There came that warm feeling in his belly again. He grazed his teeth against the skin of her shoulder. "I got nowhere to be," he admitted thoughtfully.

"Don't let me inconvenience you," she mumbled, trying to wriggle away, but he could see the smile curving her lips.

Guerrero grabbed one small, firm breast in his hand and pinned her against him. Warm emotion clutched at his throat. "I wanna stay, doc," he stated quietly but clearly into her ear.

"Well, who's kicking you out?" Zahra challenged pertly.

Chuckling, he flipped her onto her back and settled himself between her thighs, enjoying the way her body fit underneath his. He wiggled to see how it would feel to rub his nipple rings against hers; the piercings clinked softly. Zahra grinned lazily, dragging her nails along either side of his spine. "Know what would help you sleep?" he whispered.

She hummed interrogatively, arching her back to press her hips against his pelvis.

"If I got you off." He dug his right hand into the hair by her scalp. He enjoyed the way he could dishevel her neatly-braided locks.

"Oh, really?" she whispered, her voice-box failing her.

"Really," he assured her, his left hand traveling along her ribcage to her hip. "And I've got a total tongue hard-on."

Zahra laughed throatily. "What on god's green earth is a tongue hard-on?"

He flashed his eyebrows meaningfully and began to kiss his way down her throat and between her breasts. She tilted her head to watch him, tangling her fingers in his wavy hair. She sighed, and he felt her body opening to him. "Did you like seeing me go down on Deva?" she asked teasingly.

He swirled his tongue around her navel. "Oh, yeah," he breathed. He thought about how badly he had wanted to bury himself inside her while she tongued the other woman.

"Was it what you'd hoped for?" Zahra asked, stretching languorously under his kisses. "When you asked her to do it, I mean?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded with mock innocence.

He felt her diaphragm tense with laughter. "You're being intentionally disingenuous."

"And you're being a cunt, doc."

"Well, that's convenient for you, isn't it?"

"Good point." He settled himself between her thighs and explored her gently with his fingers, softly parting and stroking. She gasped as he leaned forward to kiss the top of her bare mound, and his facial hair brushed against her sensitive skin. He reached under her and kneaded her buttocks, pulling her labia apart with his thumbs.

"You gonna leave your glasses on?" she asked suddenly in what he found to be an extreme _non sequitur_.

He looked up at her, his face a picture of incredulity. "Wanna see what I'm doing."

"It just seems so...clinical," Zahra explained, her lips twisting in a shy smile.

He smirked. "Welcome to the scientific method, doc." Her laughter stopped abruptly when he licked her from passage to mound, mapping out her sex with his tongue. The ring of her piercing interrupted his progress less than he had anticipated. Her breath was already coming fast. He circled her center intentionally, kissing and grazing his teeth over the tender skin. Her thighs parted even further in eagerness. He let his tongue slide along the inside of her labia. She bit her lower lip to choke back a moan of need. Her fingers danced over her hipbones, twitching with the desire to guide him exactly where she wanted him. He could see how pink and swollen her nub was.

When he spread her and roamed all over her sensitive flesh with his tongue, she gasped, arching her back. She dangled breathlessly from his touch as he explored her for endless moments. At last he tucked the tip of his tongue under her ring, in just the way she had described to him while she touched herself.

"Oh, god, yes!" Zahra encouraged frantically. He moaned, eyes rolling up with lust, to hear her growing pleasure.

Guerrero assaulted her bundle of nerves mercilessly, and she shrieked. Her muscles tensed incredibly, and she tossed her head back, wordless cries escaping her mouth. He pushed her thighs up and back. She began to wail rhythmically, and he redoubled his attack, sensing that her climax was near. His fingers dug into the flesh of her legs. She rocked her pelvis, panicked, and then let out one long, shrill cry. He hummed happily into her sex as she shuddered, ecstasy flooding her body. At last she dragged in a deep, shuddering breath and scooted her hips away from him, tangling her fingers in his hair to ensure that he did not resume his attentions to her now over-sensitive nerves. He laughed and stroked her trembling thighs.

A gentle tug at his locks brought him, still chuckling, alongside her. Zahra tucked herself under his chin as if she would burrow into his chest. A flood of delight and satisfaction overwhelmed him. It seemed to clog his chest and choke his breath. He wrapped his arms around her feverish, shivering body.

"Should have asked you if you wanted me to tie you up first," he muttered gruffly.

"Did you want to?" she gasped. "Tie me up?"

"Doc, I would play with you 24-7 if you wanted me to." He kissed the top of her head. "But you know I'm not just here for the games."

Zahra stroked his ribs thoughtfully. "You're here for the hummus, aren't you?"

Guerrero's laugh was cut off when she reached for his erection.

oooOOOooo

TBC, 'natch!


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Uhm. Rated M. Duh. Season finale tomorrow! sniffle

"Okay, three, two, one: let's jam!"

oooOOOooo

They lay quietly for a while, listening to the music from her speakers as she caressed his half-swollen member. He stroked Zahra's hair gently. Her breathing slowed. His eyelids fluttered, and he exhaled, happy to enjoy the sensuality of her touch.

His ears pricked up to hear that the jazzy horn-and-percussion piece currently playing was overlaid with Japanese lyrics. He strained to hear the words, but could only understand some of them:

_What is right, what is wrong  
__It's like two sides of a coin_

Zahra sang along with the chorus, which began in English, but then her soft voice mimicked the sounds of the Japanese singer against his chest.

_The real folk blues  
__honto no yorokobi ga shiritai dake  
__hikaru mono no subete ga ougen to wa kagiranai_

"_'_I just want to feel real pleasure'," Guerrero translated thoughtfully. "'All that glitters is not gold'."

She picked up her head and smirked at him incredulously. "Since when do you know Japanese?"

He shrugged, taking the opportunity to embrace her more tightly. "You know you think it's hot."

"Yeah," she admitted. "Little bit." Without warning, Zahra squeezed his prick. "But I'm sure there's a woman at the bottom of it," she muttered, nuzzling his throat.

"I plead the Fifth," he muttered. He let his chin tip up, giving her full access, and allowed a hum of pleasure to rumble his voicebox. After a moment, her mouth traveled down toward his nipple and suckled it very gently. His erection swelled noticeably.

"Can you stay awake long enough for this?" he hissed, only partly joking.

Zahra chuckled and tightened the grip of her fingers on his cock as she stroked him.

"I'm just saying, doc," Guerrero murmured against her temple. "Don't start anything you can't finish."

"Let's be honest with ourselves..." She cupped his scrotum with her free hand, and he sighed. Her thumb stroked the velvety skin, gently tugging and massaging. "...I wouldn't be the first unconscious woman you've screwed."

"Not cool!" he tsked. With a sudden effort, he flipped her onto her back, nudging her thighs apart, and lowered his weight onto her. She managed to maintain her grip on his erection; now as she caressed him the head of his prick nudged her damp folds. He held the half-press-up for a long moment, enjoying her touch. She smiled up at him lazily.

"Yeah?" he breathed at last.

"Yeah," Zahra answered, in a deliciously sexy voice that was part whine, part gasp. She tilted her pelvis up and guided his length inside her. Her moan sang out his own pleasure. Her eyelids fluttered as he settled himself and began to rock against her. "Mmm, that's nice," she sighed.

Guerrero stopped moving and glared down at her incredulously. "Really? 'Nice'? That's what you're going with?"

She tossed her head back, laughter trilling from her throat. "Oh, I beg your pardon! Shall I fetch my thesaurus?"

His mouth opened to deliver a snarky reply, but then she moved her hands to his nipples, and he bit his lower lip at the delightful heat her fingers produced. "We need to upgrade from 'nice'," he grumbled, struggling to control his breath.

Zahra tilted her head, lips twitching. "Despite the popularity of the missionary position," she said carefully, "it tends not to lend itself to female pleasure."

"Bummer." He leaned his forehead against hers. The music coming from the speakers was a Janis Joplin song he could not readily identify. "I wanted to see your eyes."

"You're such a _chick_," she declared with a teasing note in her voice; her face, however, was thoughtful. She twined her fingers into his hair, tilting his head so their lips were just barely touching, and began to roll her hips against him. "No worries, anyway," she whispered. "'Nice' is about all I can handle right now."

Guerrero frowned interrogatively.

"I think my battery needs some time to recharge," Zahra confessed, her dark eyes flashing meaningfully.

He sighed theatrically, grinning. "That was a really dumb thing to say, doc." He grabbed the undersides of her thighs and, sitting up on his heels a little, rested her calves on his shoulders. The new angle allowed him to push further inside her, and Zahra gasped at the sudden intensity against her overstimulated flesh. "You should know better than to tease a junk-yard dog," Guerrero warned. Eyes still on hers, he turned his face slightly to graze his teeth against her inner ankle-bone. He rocked back and thrust into her again, chuckling as she grimaced and moaned. "Not so 'nice' anymore, is it?"

"No, boss," Zahra hissed through gritted teeth. Her hands flew to his thighs, on either side of her hips, and she clawed at him convulsively as he began to push in and out of her, slowly and languorously. "Oh, it's too much, boss," she begged, her voice cracking, when he filled her once more.

"Want me to stop?"

Eyes wide, she squeezed her lips together and shook her head.

"Right answer," he praised her, grin wide and toothy. He maintained his measured pace, relishing everything about this moment. Zahra's nails dug into the skin of his legs. She arched her back and gave a short, high-pitched wail with every thrust.

"Breathe," Guerrero reminded her. He cupped her cheek with one hand, gazing down at her. "Breathe, my love."

Zahra turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "Don't," she moaned miserably.

"Look at me, Zahra," he demanded, voice low but steely.

Her eyes popped open at his words, but her face was still twisted with torment. "Please just don't."

"Fuck that, doc. Don't you hide from me. Be here, with me, now." He crouched down, compressing her slim body even further, and pressed their foreheads together. "You're mine, Zahra. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, boss," she gasped, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You got a problem with that?"

"No, boss." She had begun to roll her pelvis against him as best she could in her constrained position, the need for release growing inside her.

His thumb toyed with her full lower lip as she tilted her head back, gaze locked on his. Guerrero pressed her legs back and apart, until he thought she might snap, but she still rocked hungrily against him. His angle of penetration changed slightly, and Zahra gasped encouragement. Her moans began to sound desperate. Her eyes rolled with pleasure. He winced, fighting his own climax; he focused on the breath tearing in and out of his lungs and the sweat sliding down his back. Zahra wriggled under him furiously, frustrated by her awkward pose. He obliged her ferocious desire, using his superior leverage to slide his entire length along her passage. His knees were almost numb with pain under the furrows her nails were plowing, when her calves pressed down against his shoulders, rocking her backward, and she thrust her head back into the pillow, her dark eyes losing focus. A fierce cry of release tore from her throat.

"Yes, my love," he panted, unleashing his own climax. He gritted his teeth against the force of it. The ecstasy drained him so completely that it took him several long moments to realize that Zahra was writhing not to extend her own pleasure but to shake him off of her.

oooOOOooo

A/N: The song G translates for Z is "The Real Folk Blues", performed by Yoko Kanno as the closing sequence for episodes of "Cowboy Bebop". Can anyone say, "Jet Black / Guerrero cross-over"?


	26. Chapter 26

"Zahra!" he hollered after her as she fled into the bathroom, then flopped over onto the bed. He could hear water running and splashing. He lay in the warm sheets where her body had been and listened to the song playing on her mp3 player, a man's gritty voice singing over an acoustic guitar.

_Gravedigger  
__When you dig my grave  
__Can you make it shallow  
__so I can feel the rain_

Guerrero turned his head and glared at the wall in Zahra's general direction. With a grunt, he shoved himself to his feet and lurched, unsteady on sex-tired legs, toward the bathroom. He leaned on the doorframe, staring down at Zahra, who crouched in the bathtub in front of the streaming faucet. She was washing herself busily, and she ignored him.

"Zahra!" he called again, over the sound of the water.

Her head whipped around, one of her hands still splashing between her legs. "Do you mind not _bellowing_ at me?" she asked pertly.

"Hey, do you mind not freaking out?" Guerrero retorted. He took a seat on the closed toilet lid and leaned toward her, elbows on knees. "What is your damage?"

She just shook her head and returned to her ablutions.

"Jesus," he cursed, eyeing the vigor with which she was scrubbing their commingled fluids from herself. "Should we have used a condom?"

Zahra's eyes cut toward him with an annoyed glance that Chance might have found similar to one of Guerrero's own expressions. "You're asking this _now_?" She switched off the faucet and stood, swiping her hands over herself to slick water from her body into the tub. "I have an I.U.D., by the way. So we're good. Thanks for asking."

Guerrero extended a hand to help her out. She took it regally and stepped onto the bathmat. Grabbing a towel down, he began to dry her. "Hey, you're the gynecologist," he said. "I just figured you had that shit locked down."

"Which is how you end up with a kid when you're pushing fifty," she snarked, but he could already sense her annoyance subsiding.

"Ooh, low blow," he retorted, wincing. He knelt and began to towel the water carefully from her thighs.

"Although you do look pretty good for your age," Zahra murmured, almost apologetically, looking down at him. She laid a hand atop his head and stroked his hair.

He ran the towel over her backside, lingering to feel the curves of her buttocks through the terrycloth. "Do we get to talk about what's really bothering you?" he asked carefully, watching her over the rims of his glasses.

"You have a fucking toolbox full of torture implements in your trunk," she grumbled, "and you want to fucking talk about this."

"Yeah, I fucking do," Guerrero replied mildly. He dried each of her strong legs thoroughly.

_I mean, you should never have to bury your own babies  
__Gravedigger_

"In fact," she announced, as if continuing a conversation begun in her head, "I don't intend for us _ever_ to have that conversation. That..." She hesitated. "_That_ wasn't part of our deal."

"Didn't realize I was still on the clock," he drawled. "Doc." He rose to look her in the face. The words flew back and forth silently, from brown eyes to blue ones.

"Fucking hell," she spat at last. She brushed past him, reached onto the vanity for her brush, and began to comb out her braids aggressively. Guerrero flicked his fingers at her, open-handed. She closed her eyes, hand pausing mid-swipe, and swallowed. Then she lowered her arm and approached him. He guided her in front of him, her back to his front, and took the brush from her hand. Zahra hummed uncertainly.

"Relax," Guerrero murmured. Tilting her head back slightly, he began to run the comb gently through her dark locks, pressing down on the roots to avoid pulling on her scalp when he hit a tangle. She took deep breaths, and he could feel her settling under the simple, sensual pleasure. Soon he felt confident to grasp a whole handful and brush out the ends.

_When you dig my grave  
__Can you make it shallow  
__so I can feel the rain_

At last he ran the brush from roots to ends, over and over again. Zahra's shoulders slumped. He spoke softly into her ear: "'And what you thought you came for / Is only a shell, a husk of meaning / From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled / If at all. Either you had no purpose / Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured.'"

Zahra frowned contemplatively. "I _know_ that."

"it's T.S. Eliot."

"Did you memorize 'The Four Quartets' before or after you learned Japanese?" she sighed.

Guerrero leaned forward to kiss the side of her neck, allowing his lips and mustache to trail over the sensitive curve. "Can you just admit that you're in love with me so we can move on?"

Zahra shook her head viciously, twisting around toward him. "Goddamnit, I – ah!" She cried out as he wrapped her mane in his fist and tugged on it, hard.

"I _will_ bend you over and paddle you with this brush, so help me," he grunted, jerking her head back. "So let's try this again."

"Let me go," she moaned through gritted teeth.

Guerrero slapped the top swell of her bare breast with the brush. He was careful to avoid her nipple and the ring that pierced it, but he smacked her with force.

"Ow! Shit!" she cursed. Tears sprang into her eyes.

"Zahra," he barked.

"I can't! You know I can't!"

He waited, watching her chest heave. At last her face screwed up. "Penance," she hissed.

Guerrero grimaced, but obeyed the safe-word.

He should have known. She was so damn stubborn that she would let him paddle her bloody and never admit that she loved him, no matter how much he wanted to hear her say it and even if he told her a thousand times that he loved her.

He let go of her hair and dropped the brush, cupping his hands around her face. A few stray tears slid down her cheeks, and he wiped them away with his thumbs. He was content to wait, for now.

"And don't give me any lectures about intimacy," she sobbed, laughing wearily, "because I don't even know your real name."

Guerrero sighed. He led her toward the bed and settled her under the covers. He put her brush back on the vanity in the bathroom. He switched off her mp3 player. Climbing into bed next to her, he took off his glasses, folded them, and put them on the nightstand next to their guns, then switched off the light. "Let's get some sleep," he said, curling against her.

"Will you be here in the morning?"

"_I'll hang around as long as you will let me_," he sang softly.

She giggled to hear him sing and twined herself around him.

"A_nd I never minded standing in the rain / But you don't have to call me 'darlin'', darlin' / You never even call me by my name."_

oooOOOooo

He woke to the phone ringing. Daylight streamed through the curtains on the high, narrow windows in Zahra's loft bedroom. She clutched clumsily for the handset, checked the I.D., then answered, "Hey."

Guerrero groaned to hear Ames' chirpy, annoying voice on the other end of the line and snuggled closer to Zahra, kissing her shoulder preemptively.

"Uh, can't today. I've got plans." She looked down at him, smirking, and pulled a face. Ames kept talking.

"You'll call her back," he grunted. He twisted their bodies to angle his morning erection against the soft, warm swell of Zahra's buttock.

"OmigodisthatGuerrero?" Ames shrilled audibly.

"Mhm," Zahra sighed sleepily, switching the phone to her other hand to accommodate Guerrero's fingers, which slipped under her arm to cup her breast.

"Crap, are you gonna have all kind of crazy bruises?"

"I did many things to the doc last night," he said distinctly toward the handset, "but hitting her with my belt was not one of them."

"Oh. Okay. Ew," the younger woman stammered. "T.M.I."

"Dude, what do you think a booty-call is _about_?" Guerrero grumbled.

"I'll call you later, Ames," Zahra said, holding back a giggle.

"Yeah. Sure. Just...whenever. Ew. Bye."

Guerrero grabbed the handset, turned it off, and chucked it onto the carpet on the far side of the room.

"Hey," Zahra protested lamely. She sighed as he wrapped his arms around her and planted kisses on her neck and back, then wedged his hard-on companionably between her buttocks. "I have to pee."

He pushed her toward the edge of the bed. "So go pee, woman."

"I should go for a jog," she mused as she returned from the bathroom.

"Fuck that noise. But if you're feeling the need for some exercise..."

"Classy," she drawled, climbing back under the covers. Guerrero pushed his hand into her hair and pulled her face down to his for a kiss. Her hand snaked along his body to confirm that his erection had not flagged. Finding him still hard, she swung her leg over his hips and settled herself gingerly onto his prick. She began to rock, slowly, lazily, her palms braced on his chest, her thumbs toying with his pierced nipples. He grinned, laughing throatily.

"What?" she murmured, her body arching and twisting above him.

Guerrero shook his head slightly, blue eyes roaming over her. "Just this moment, here, now," he whispered.

She smiled and breathed, "Yeah." She watched him thoughtfully, her eyelids fluttering with pleasure from time to time. "You're not in love with me, you know. You're in love with..._this._"

"That so, doc?" he challenged.

"Mhm."

"Then how do you explain that the last time I fucked a woman like this - just like this - it was you I was thinking of?"

Zahra rolled her eyes and laughed.

"Fine. Don't believe me. But it's true," he insisted, pursing his lips. He thrust up into her to punctuate his statement.

She gasped happily and then leaned forward, biting her lip. Guerrero watched the sparkle in her eyes with interest as she grabbed his wrists and pinned them down on either side of his head. Her weight now braced on his forearms, she had to rise up slightly on her knees each time she drew her wet passage along his hard length. "So I guess you really are my bitch," she teased, her breasts swaying above him in this new position.

"I tried not to think about you. I really did. Tried not to pretend she was you."

"Wow," Zahra said breezily. "You really must have wanted to fuck me." Her body rose and fell steadily, leisurely, relishing the feel of him underneath her.

Guerrero sighed heavily, playing along. "I've wanted you for so long. Hell, I've wanted you since the first time I met you. Do you remember that day?"

Her eyes flew wide with irony. "Uh, yeah. And that was the first time I had that feeling I told Ames about, like you knew how I look naked." She twisted her hips as she moved, and he groaned softly with pleasure.

"X-ray glasses from the back of Mad Magazine," he muttered.

Zahra chuckled and stared thoughtfully down at him. He could see a sheen of sweat between her breasts. She hummed, letting her eyes fall closed. She continued to rock at her measured pace.

"You're not gonna let me come anytime soon, are you?" he asked knowingly.

She opened her eyes and shook her head, a smile curving her lips. "What's your hurry? We have all day, and all night, and all tomorrow..."

Guerrero hummed happily at this thought. "I'm at your disposal, my love."

Zahra's hands clenched tightly around his wrists, and he thought for a moment that he had misgauged her mood, overstepped himself. Then she licked her lips. "_Ana b'hebbak,_" she murmured.

He stared up and saw the weary confirmation in her eyes. He said nothing, unwilling to break the spell. She rode him without mercy for minutes, or hours, or days, and he surrendered himself to her until she took her pleasure of him at last and allowed him release, which flooded him like water through a broken dam.

oooOOOooo

A/N: "Gravedigger" is by Dave Matthews (acoustic version). "You Never Even Call Me By My Name" is David Allen Coe (and may be "the perfect country-western song"). "The Four Quartets" are, as stated, by T.S. Eliot.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Rated T for heavy shit. "And death shall have no dominion" is Dylan Thomas, as we shall learn in the next chap.

oooOOOooo

"Hey. Dude. Can you take a look at something for me?"

"Sure." Chance sauntered into the conference room, Carmine at his heels, and took a seat next to Guerrero. "What's up?" The Rottweiler circled the room briefly, nose to the ground. Having determined that there were no edibles involved in this gathering, he collapsed under his master's chair with a grunting sigh. His expression was much the same as Chance's had been when Guerrero walked in suspiciously early for a Monday morning and refused to say word one about his weekend with Dr. Birdsall. The fixer was a little twitchier than normal, but Chance could not read anything else from him.

"Look at these letter combos, and tell me if you see anything." Guerrero's fingers flew over the digital keyboard on the conference table. He swept his hand forward to fling his active window onto the large-screen monitors. The script that the shaggy-haired man had written spat out all the combinations and even spotted some of the real-word possibilities, but he still could not find anything that really _worked_.

Chance leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips. "What am I looking for?" He squinted at the array of four-letter combinations.

"Any of those combos give something that makes sense?"

The blond stared at the screens, his lips working silently. His finger drew tiny spirals as if he were dialing a rotary phone.

Ames appeared in the doorway, sucking on the back of her hand. Guerrero squinted, only then realizing that she was wore a ring-pop on her right forefinger. Strangely, the young woman had not mentioned Zahra to him all day. Not even a raised eyebrow. "What's up, guys?" she asked now, stickily.

"Here, make yourself useful, Ames," Chance told her. He waved his hand at the monitors. "See any combos that make sense?"

"What, like as a word?"

The bespectacled man choked back a snide response. The brunette slid into the chair on Guerrero's other side, slobbering noisily on her ring-pop as she cocked her head at the screens.

"What if we add vowels between some of the consonant-heavy combos?" Chance suggested.

"Like?" the shorter man prompted.

His partner scowled in thought. "Like...P-T-G-B could be...'PiTGoB'..."

Ames snorted loudly.

"Okay," admitted the blond. "That's not a good example."

The trio contemplated the puzzle in silence for a moment.

"Any of the words mean something in Arabic?" Guerrero asked at last, studiedly casual. He stared at Chance out of the corner of his eye and tried to keep breathing.

"In Arabic?" the blond repeated. "Well, let's..." His voice drifted off, and his head turned slowly toward his partner. "Why are you asking about Arabic, Guerrero?" he drawled, narrowing his eyes.

The fixer stuck his tongue in his cheek in an expression that spoke volumes.

"'Suha' is an Arabic name," Ames volunteered, unconscious of the interplay occurring between the men, who now turned to stare at her. She shrugged. "Brody dated a girl named 'Suha' from Egypt." She paused, frowning. "They speak Arabic in Egypt, right?"

"Yeah," Chance confirmed. He looked back at Guerrero. "And in Lebanon."

The brunette's jaw fell open as the penny dropped. "Wait, this is about _Zahra_?" She glanced up at the screens. "What is this, one of her passwords or something? Jeez, Guerrero, why don't you just _ask_ her whatever you want to know? I'm sure she'd tell you. You don't have to hack her password."

Guerrero stared at her. "I _have_ her password, brainiac. It's the four digits these combos came from."

Ames blinked. "Oh. Yeah."

"And you're sure it's not the digits themselves that are significant?" Chance interrupted, intrigued despite himself.

"No, dude," the shorter man answered, turning his head slightly toward his partner. "None of the date combinations are important. It's not her social, or any of her past addresses..."

"Damn. Obsess much?" the young woman muttered into her ring-pop.

Guerrero ignored her and turned himself fully toward Chance. "It's got to be the alphabetic equivalents. It's a word."

_7-8-4-2_, he repeated to himself. _Suha?_

oooOOOooo

"Hello?" the woman's voice said into his ear.

Guerrero chewed his thumbnail. He looked around the empty rooftop, feeling the sun hot on the top of his head. "Hi, is this Deva?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Who is this?" the woman's voice said at last, warily.

"Uh, this is Zahra's friend. Sean."

"Oh!" Deva sighed, sounding relieved. "Hello, Sean. How are you?"

"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out."

"No, you didn't really. It's just that there are only so many people in this world who know me by that name."

"Yeah." Guerrero leaned against the roof ledge and smoothed his mustache. "I know the feeling."

"So, Sean: what's up?"

He laughed nervously and was startled by how shaky the exhalation sounded. "I had a question about Zahra, actually. It...might sound kinda odd."

Deva chuckled. "Yeah?" she drawled. She was clearly expecting an inquiry of a different nature than the one he intended.

"Uh, well, does the name 'Suha' mean anything to you?" He bared his teeth, anxious to know if he was on the right track.

"Where did you hear that name?" The woman's voice was cold; it wavered slightly.

_Bingo_, he thought.

"It came up," he volunteered, pressing on quickly before she could think too hard about his vague reply. "Is Suha a member of her family? Someone she knows?"

"Sean, I really think you need to ask Zahra about this."

"Hey," Guerrero said, allowing a little crack into his voice that he did not have to struggle too hard to fake. "I'm asking _you_."

"Sean-"

"_Please_, Deva." He was gripping the phone so hard that its cheap plastic edges dug into his fingers. "Please."

She sighed. "Los Arboles. The columbarium." He heard the click of her hanging up.

oooOOOooo

"Hi. Excuse me. Hi."

The prim young black man behind the desk looked up and smiled politely at Guerrero. He rose to shake hands. "Hello, sir. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks." Guerrero shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and ran his thumb idly over his pocketknife. His eyes wandered around the office, over the catalogs and sample memorials and stacks of paperwork.

"What can I do for you, sir?" The young man pushed the stylish black frames of his glasses up with his forefinger and smoothed his blue striped tie over his pink shirt.

"I'm looking for a, uh, niche. One that's already...filled," he clarified, grimacing. "I don't know where she is."

"Of course, sir," the young man said, re-positioning himself in his chair behind the computer with a dancer's grace. "I can direct you to the location. What is the departed's name?"

Guerrero pursed his lips and took a gamble. "I guess she's under 'Ayazi'. A-Y-A-Z-I. 'Suha Ayazi'."

Slim black fingers flew over the keyboard. The young man peered at his screen. "'Ayazi'..." The attendant-_cum-_salesman made note of the niche number and then escorted Guerrero along the main atrium of the columbarium. He took a left into a smaller wing. Guerrero's eyes grazed over the hundreds of inscribed memorial plates of various sizes that capped the niches.

"Here you are, sir," the young man said, indicating a smaller niche about two feet off the ground. "Just let me know if there's anything else I can do."

"Thanks, dude," Guerrero replied absent-mindedly. He went down on one knee to examine the bronze memorial plate, but collapsed forward onto all-fours as he read.

_Suha Ayazi Birdsall  
__April 16, 2008  
__Though lovers be lost love shall not;  
__And death shall have no dominion._

Guerrero sat back on his heels. Pulling his hair back and interlacing his fingers behind his head, he blew air out of loose lips.

7-8-4-2.

Suha.


End file.
